The Magic, Broken

by Rick Field

  The bone-knitting potion, she guessed, would have to wait until after the healer was done with the small bones in her foot. No wonder she had such trouble walking.

  Closing her eyes, she resumed the movie of the last days, and continued her discourse. Had it really only been a few days? It felt so much longer.

  By the time she was done talking, the healer was done with her mangled leg. Pertogan's reactions had to wait, as the Healer helped her sit upright, and gave her the bone-knitting solution. “Your leg has been repaired to the best of my ability, My Lady,” the young man said. “The potion will set the bones and help heal them. You should be able to walk now, although I would recommend you wait at least until tomorrow before doing anything more strenuous than getting up from the couch and walking to either the table, a bath, or your bed.”

  “Thank you, Healer,” she said, the strengthening potions having restored her ability to speak without lisping.

  “You are quite welcome, My Lady,” Pyne said, suddenly looking exhausted. “I do not believe I have had to work this intensively since leaving the Academy.” He nodded at Pertogan and Steve, gave Liane another once-over, then excused himself.

  “Perhaps this would be a good time to adjourn and allow everyone a chance to clean up and prepare for supper,” Pertogan said. “A good bath will do you good, My Lady, and a decent supper shall revive you.”

  “That would be very welcome, My Lord,” Liane answered gratefully. A bath sounded heavenly.

  “You are my guest and under my protection, My Lady,” the Necromancer said, stepping up to the couch and placing one hand on her shoulder. “My home is yours for the duration of your stay. No harm will befall you here.” He turned to Daryn, the young Assistant still standing in a corner. “Assistant, did you keep up with your homemaking skills since leaving the Academy?”

  The fourteen-year-old replied immediately, and Liane recognized the signs of a well-trained Assistant. “I have, My Lord.”

  “Good. Please consider yourself My Lady's handmaiden during her stay,” the man said, keeping his focus on Liane. “My Lady, the Assistant will take care of you, please accept her service as my guest.”

  The Pillar quirked her lips. She was usually quite vocal in her independence and her lack of need of personal service of any kind. But right now, after the last horrific days and being weak and injured, having someone take care of her sounded just what she needed. “Of course, My Lord,” she answered. “I believe a good bath would do me well.”

  The Assistant didn't bother to look at Pertogan, merely dipped her head and left the room to go and prepare the bath. Or maybe she went to order a servant to prepare the bath – Liane didn't care to know which. “A good Assistant,” the Mage noted.

  “I was quite lucky,” Pertogan acknowledged. “Her magic is finely skilled, yet weak, and she has trouble with theory, hence her failing out of the Academy. She makes a fine Assistant.” He looked at Steve, still seated in one of the plush seats in the far-away corner, out of the way of working Healers, bustling Assistants, and protective Necromancers. “I will ask my valet to include you in his service,” Pertogan told the foreigner. “Please make yourself at home as my guest.”

  The man hadn't been expecting the offer, and his surprise showed it plainly. He caught himself quickly, gave a grateful nod of his head, and said, “Thank you.” He glanced at Liane, then back to the Lord of the house. “For everything.”

  The Necromancer gave a small smile. “You are quite welcome.”

  Liane didn't feel pain when she pushed herself out of the couch, but her weakened body let her know just how weak she was. “I believe I shall go soak in a hot bath,” she said, her voice not sounding anywhere near her usual strength and confidence. The Assistant returned to announce that the bath was being drawn, but instead found herself stepping close to the swaying Mage, obviously distraught and wondering whether or not to physically support her.

  “This way, My Lady,” the girl offered finally, hovering close enough to step in and help.

  “Thank you, Assistant.” The Pillar was tired, looking forward to a bath, a good meal, and a long sleep in a real bed. The bathroom wasn't as large as the one she had at home, but it was richly furnished. Her freshly healed body protested when she tried to remove her clothes, and for once she allowed herself to be undressed.

  By the time she was naked, she felt appalled. Her Pillar's robes, blood-bound and permanently enchanted, had survived intact. Her underthings, meanwhile, had not done so well, and most were in tatters, and soaked with blood and sweat. For a moment, Liane looked at herself in the mirror.

  The image that looked back was barely recognizable as her. Her face was cut and bruised, one of her eyes was blackening, her hair was filled with leaves and branches, and everything was coated in a liberal layer of dust and dirt. The rest of her body was covered in bruises and abrasions from spell-damage and rolling on the floor to avoid spell fire.

  She looked awful.

  “Lord Pyne will have you completely back to normal tomorrow, My Lady,” Daryn offered with as much reassurance as an Assistant could. For a moment, Liane had a flashback to the Academy, almost expecting Amy's voice to try and offer comfort. The next moment, she was in Pertogan's bathroom once more, with an unknown Assistant present to help.

  The mage nodded at the statement, and made her way to the free-standing marble bathtub. When she tried to step in, her injured body complained massively, and a burst of pain shot up from her spine. She over-balanced, and more than likely would have had a new injury for the Healer, if the young Assistant hadn't been there to catch her.

  “You are still quite injured, My Lady, please be careful,” the girl admonished with as much admonishment as she could get away with to a Pillar.

  Liane ignored the comment, and sunk gratefully into the hot, soapy water. “I will be about an hour, Assistant. Please don't let me keep you from your duties.” It was as much a dismissal as it was a kindness, and the girl bopped her head and left the room. There was no need for her to hang around for an hour, doing nothing but watch Liane bathe.

  The Mage closed her eyes. Unbidden, the movie of the last week started playing again. The life or death struggles that had started with Lord Marcel of the Rising Trees, and hadn't really ended since. The discovery that there really was a civil war in Kiria.

  Revolution. It had sounded so nasty, so barbaric and outside of Kirian values when she had thrown the word at Mariam. Now she was in the middle of one.

  She pulled her knees up to her chest, happy that the tub was deep enough to allow her to do so with only the top of her knees sticking out of the hot, soapy water. Rested her head on her knees, she hugged her legs close and tucked herself in. if she were honest with herself, she had no idea how to proceed. Until now, she had pushed on with the vague notion of getting to the Capital, somehow entering a city under lockdown, finding the ones responsible, and breaking the war shields that were preventing communication.

  Emotions bubbled to the surface. She was just one Mage. Pillar or not, she was just one Mage, maybe the last remnant of the lawful government still active. She didn't know who was responsible, how many Nobles or Commoners had either died or flocked to the enemy's banner, or how high the rot of treachery went. She would be going in blind.

  She had always been confident in her own abilities, and knew that she was more than capable of holding her own in an honorable duel. Instead, she had been in combat, the rules of chivalry and honor suspended. She'd been nearly killed on multiple occasions.

  Killed.

  Liane had never really considered death in more than any abstract notion. Sure, she had faced it in a duel, but it was somehow different when it was one-on-one, single combat with rules and agreements. She had faced Death now, real death, death by treachery and actual combat.

  Her face felt wet, and she reached up to find tears rolling down her cheeks. She was crying, and hadn't even realized it. She was just one Mage; what hope did she have against all the fo
rces arrayed against her? She buried her face in her knees, and wept, the stress, the injury, the pain, the exhaustion of the last couple of days finally overwhelming her. Her thoughts went blank as she simply released everything she had pent up.

  When the young Assistant entered, Liane realized she must have looked like a fright with her blackened eye, covered in cuts, bruises, and abrasions, and sporting red eyes and swollen cheeks from crying.

  Daryn said nothing, however, and Liane was grateful to the young Assistant for not commenting on her broken and disheveled state. The girl merely helped Liane out of the tub, and into some new clothes that had evidently just been magicked into existence. Realizing why Pertogan had asked about the Assistant's maintenance of her homemaking spells, Liane made sure to thank the girl. The clothes were made from fine fabrics, fit perfectly, and managed to be sturdy enough to hide her various injuries yet light enough not to cause her pain.

  She also realized there was a minor enchantment placed on them, making them feel slightly warm and dry, just what she needed after a hot bath.

  “My Lord Pertogan has announced that supper will be served in half an hour, My Lady. Would you like to join My Lord in the drawing room for an aperitif?” the Assistant asked.

  Liane gave a small smile. “I do not think it would be prudent for me to consume alcohol in my present state, Assistant. Perhaps a non-alcoholic beverage would be preferable.'”

  “I believe My Lord ordered a pot of light sweet leaf tea, My Lady,” Daryn offered as she orbited closely to Liane, ready to reach out and steady the Mage should her body fail. It would have been annoying, if only it weren't so necessary, Liane thought.

  “Lord Pertogan knows me too well,” Liane said with a small shake of her head.

  They walked silently, the exhausted Mage and the young Assistant. The flowing dress that covered her was elegant and charmed to be comfortably warm, yet Liane felt her body shiver with both exhaustion and repressed emotion. Entering the drawing room, the Pillar gave a nod to Pertogan and Steve, then gratefully sank down in a chair and accepted a cup of tea.

  Steve too, had been bathed and clothed, it seemed, as he was now dressed in an elegant set of Noble clothing. The Mage smiled inwardly, it was very likely that the foreign pilot would never understand how he had been honored.

  The conversation was light and easy, and continued to flow over nothings during dinner. The food was light, yet filling, and had been excellently prepared.

  It wasn't until after dinner, when they were all sated and had retreated back into the drawing room, that Liane finally worked up the courage to go into detail about the past days. Contrary to her surface explanation earlier, this time she went into detail, naming names and most of the spells, disclosing everything she could remember. Inwardly, she was glad for the opportunity, accepting it as a chance to order her thoughts and refresh her memories. She would probably need to do this in the future, either on her written report to the Overseer, or verbally to Milor. Quite likely, she would have to do both.

  The Master Necromancer remained silent as she talked, digesting what he was being told. When she finished, he sighed, and looked gravely at her. His silence dragged on, far longer than Liane had expected, and long enough for her to start worrying about his reaction.

  When he spoke, it was with an uncharacteristic seriousness. “All I can offer at this moment is shelter, My Lady,” he said. “I am not well versed in the arts of combat, and my skills barely lend themselves to defending my honor in a duel. I would be a liability rather than a help. You are welcome here for as long as you wish. I will attempt to contact others outside the Capital, and see if we can attempt to pull together a sufficient force to provide a fallback point.”

  Liane looked up. It would be good to have a safe place, protected by sufficient members of the Nobility. “That would be most helpful, My Lord.”

  “I'm confused, though,” Steve said, and the Pillar focused his gaze on him. She hoped he wasn't about to run off his mouth and embarrass her. Pertogan was more easy-going than most Nobles, but he was also her friend. “I thought you said that all men are... what did you call them again... Warlocks?”

  Liane gave a tired smile. At least his question had been posed politely, and not about an insulting subject. “I believe I said that most men become Warlocks, just as most women become Mages. You yourself have already met an exception – the Lady Monolith became a Druid. Likewise, Lord Pertogan is a Necromancer rather than a Warlock.”

  The man blinked, paled, looked at Pertogan, opened his mouth then closed it. “Ehm,” he stammered. “No offense. In my homeland, Necromancy has a really bad reputation.”

  Pertogan chuckled, and Liane was glad her friend hadn't taken the comment as an insult. “You would not be the first,” he replied. “There is nothing evil or dark about Necromancy, although it does give a person a joy of life, being surrounded by so much death.”

  Steve nodded, falling silent once more, and the conversation died out. Liane drew a breath. “My Lord, I used the spell we created last time.”

  The Necromancer thought for a few moments, then remembered the spell in question, and sat up straight. “You are referring to the spell that you believed would be able to extinguish life from a subject?”

  Liane just dipped her head, and looked at the floor. “I did some modifications to make it work, but yes, in essence, that is still what the spell does. It reaches for the spark of life itself, and extinguishes it. No healing was possible.”

  Pertogan smiled slightly. “I'm assuming it worked as we theorized?”

  “Too well, My Lord,” the Mage replied. “It killed Lord Marcel of the Rising Trees when he was the first to turn traitor. I reported this to the Pillar service.” She looked up, gazed into Pertogan's eyes. She could see the surprise that resulted from her unexpected action. “The Service's Necromancers were unable to raise his soul. My Lord, the spell destroyed the soul of the Lord Marcel.”

  She could see his surprise and his shock, before he closed his eyes, and sunk back into his chair. “That is... surprising.” He shook his head. “Lord Milor is correct. You, My Lady, are a singularly frightening Mage when angered or provoked.”

  “You're telling me,” Steve whispered, obviously to himself yet not quite, quiet enough.

  Rather than comment on the pilot's remark, Pertogan studied Liane for a few moments. “I would recommend not using that spell again,” he finally said. “A spell that destroys a person's soul...” he trailed off, unsure of what to say.

  Liane was in full agreement. “I have already decided against it, My Lord. Despite numerous provocations and chances, I have decided against using it again. In fact, I have not used the entire spell sequence again.”

  Pertogan stood up, and poured himself another drink. “Perhaps it is for the best, My Lady. It is regrettable; that spell sequence is a thing of beauty and nearly impossible to beat. I am surprised that you were forced to use its final level.” He drained his entire drink in one gulp and poured himself another. “But not nearly as surprised as the result of said final level.” He stared into the amber alcohol. “The destruction of a soul...” he muttered, halfway to himself. “Incredible.”

  “That would not be the word I would use, My Lord,” the Mage replied. “Although I do second the thought.” She stifled the sudden yawn that came from the tips of her toes.

  “You are exhausted, and have had trying days,” the Necromancer said. “Perhaps sound sleep will ease your worries. I will have you brought to the guest rooms. Do not hesitate to call upon Lord Pyne for a sleeping draught should you need it.”

  Steve eagerly accepted the offer of a warm bed in a secure location, but Liane shook her head. “I must first re-balance my magic, My Lord. May I have access to your ward room?”

  Pertogan frowned. “Like many homes, My Lady, the anchors of this estate are buried deep underground. I do not possess a ward room.”

  Liane didn't reply, and simply continued to look at him. The Lord of the man
or sighed. “Very well, please do not disclose this to anyone, My Lady.”

  The Mage gave him a grateful smile, dipped her head in agreement, and started to follow. “Can I ask...?” Steve started, then broke off, unsure of how to phrase his question.

  By now, she had gotten to know the man and his inquisitive nature. “The anchors required for permanent shields and wards are buried underground. Excavating around those anchors is considered in bad taste, as it is believed doing so will diminish their effectiveness. In truth, there is a certain drop in performance of excavated anchors, but this drop is minimal. For people such as myself, they are an excellent source of raw magic that is helpful in repairing our damaged magical cores.”

  “It is also an excellent place to commune with the dead,” Pertogan said. “It is something that is not discussed in polite society, however.”

  “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.