by Rick Field
She would have to succeed. Anything else was too horrific to contemplate. She tried to force her mind into a trance so she could repair her magic. Failure was not an option, she told herself again. A Mage can be an army, given time.
Unfortunately, she didn't have time.
Forcing her mind to relax, Liane sunk deeper into her trance. Time to finish the job Haturori had started, and repair the bindings on her magic. She could pull the energy from the anchors now, rather than simply use them to set up a temporary ward to shield her from outside influence.
Her frantic emotions made meditation difficult. Time and again, frayed thoughts and turbulent emotions threatened to undo the hard work she was doing, and time and time again she needed to take a subconscious step back and allow herself to relax.
Almost an hour later, she opened her eyes and allowed herself a smile. Time to get some rest, tomorrow would be a long day. Water's wisdom was leaving her now, leaving the knowledge and insight she had attained, but making her feel diminished nonetheless.
Liane made her way up to the bedroom Pertogan had so kindly made available to her, and even found some quickly made night clothing in her size. Next to it was a small pile of her traveling clothes, now freshly cleaned and mended where necessary. The young Assistant was worth her weight in gold, Liane decided as she changed.
Slipping between the covers, the Pillar expected sleep to quickly overcome her.
Instead, she found herself twisting and turning despite the comfort of the bed. Thoughts and emotions were warring with nightmarish scenarios played out by her threatened subconscious. Her country was under siege, and she was going to war. A few thoughts thanked the fact that most communications took time, and that the country could continue without regular contact with the central government in the Capital.
She hated not knowing who her allies were, and where to turn for help. Pertogan was kind in helping her, but neither he nor the others in his hold were skilled in combat. She would have to do this alone, venture into the den of the enemy, find out what was happening and why, and determine the best course of action.
Despite not having slept, she got up and paced the room. Her mended leg tingled, reminding her of the Healer's orders. At the thought of even her own body turning against her, a burst of irrational anger bloomed from her magical core. For a moment, she teetered on the edge of screaming loudly, releasing her pent-up anger, fear and frustration into the air.
Somehow managing to contain herself, Liane kept herself to a sub-vocal growl, balled fists, and angrily waving arms as she paced to a comfortable chair in front of the fireplace. She fell down in it with all the grace of an angry sack of potatoes, and stared at the dark grate. It was a matter of a few words and gestures to float over some firewood and ignite it.
Smoke threatened to spill into the room before she remembered to open the chimney. The Mage stared, angry and alone, into the flickering flames with a frightening intensity.
As sudden as it had risen, her anger abated, giving way to anxiety and fear. Tomorrow, she would have to set out alone, make her way to the Capital despite the people out to hunt and kill her. Who knew what she would find, if she even managed to reach her destination? Would she be able to help? What if she couldn't? What would become of Kiria then?
Her fear brought a rising anxiety, and the young woman got up from her chair and paced. Her mended leg tingled. She bit off a curse at its reminder, tried going back to bed. She tried to focus. She was Liane, the MagicWarper. She was a Pillar of Kiria; she would go to the capital, despite the odds. She would find out what was happening, she would make sure it was undone, and she would make sure her country was safe. It was her duty, and if there was one thing Liane did not do, it was fail. The only thing she had ever failed at was stabilizing her magic, and after this whole mess was over, she would build herself a tower of solitude and rectify even that abysmal failure.
She knew how, now, thanks to Haturori.
Thinking of rebuilding her magic calmed her, and a small smile played on her lips when she contemplated what she would be able to do without her handicap. She would finally be able to learn the arts of Necromancy from Pertogan. The arts of the Warlock from Milor. Transmutation would come easy to her.
Thinking of transmutation made her think of that one duel at the Academy where she had transmuted the calcium in her opponent's shoulder into sodium, causing it to react explosively to the water in her blood.
It was yet another combat tactic that was denied to her now. Oh, she could still do it, if pressed, but the amount of energy and focus required would prevent her from doing pretty much anything else for quite some time, leaving her completely exposed and helpless to any other people that may want to do her harm.
Finally, she slept. Her rest was fitful and short, and barely six hours later, she awoke feeling cold and damp with sweat, the covers wrapped tightly around her in silent testimony of her nightly tossing and turning.
After extracting herself and allowing the sonic stall to clean her, she dressed in her cleaned and mended Pillar's robes. She had slept only six hours, but after years of subsisting on a short night's rest at the Academy, it felt like a full night to her, despite its restlessness. Her leg no longer tingled, her magic was ready and stable, and she felt ready to tackle the day, no matter what may come.
It was still dark out, and Liane made her way down to the breakfast room. It was still early and none of the servants were up and about yet. Once more, she started the fire herself rather than call for someone. She loved open flame, it gave her something to gaze at and let her mind wander. It was easy to call a comfortable seat over, and she gracefully sunk down into it.
Liane only realized how long she had been sitting there, dozing and gazing, when suddenly light entered through the windows and the servants were shuffling about, preparing the breakfast table and preparing the household for the day. She ignored the glances she received from one of the maids at the sight of the moved seat and the crisping fire. She could take care of herself, there was no need to disturb any of the servants to do things she was well capable of doing herself.
She turned her focus back to the flames, and allowed herself to drift again. The short night's sleep was leaving its marks despite her tolerance for short nights, and she half dozed until disturbed by Pertogan.
He was as jovial as always, despite her half-sleep in front of his breakfast room's fire. “It seems, My Lady,” he told her after the obligatory exchange of early morning greetings, “that you have somewhat upset my servants.”
She blinked, not having expected the remark. “May I ask how come, My Lord? It was never my intention to cause any upset in your household.”
The Necromancer's smile widened. “You are ever the independent Pillar, taking care of yourself, My Lady,” he replied with a chuckle. “You started your own fire and moved the chair yourself. I heard one of the maids make a comment to the butler about 'that unusual Mage who doesn't want people taking care of her'. I thought it quite humorous and decided to share the story with you.”
Judging from the reaction of the girl serving them breakfast, Liane understood who the maid in question had been to share the juicy piece of gossip. “I'm used to taking care of myself and will only share duties that are too large or time-consuming, My Lord,” she said, diplomatically ignoring the brightly blushing servant girl. “Please explain to your household I mean no disrespect; starting a fire and moving the chair were small things and I did not wish to disturb anyone's rest.”
The girl was scurrying off as quickly as Decorum allowed, and Liane tracked her movement with an amused air. For a few moments, she wondered where the foreign pilot was, but then her appetite overrode her worry. She was as hungry as she should be after the large healing she had received last night, and did justice to the cooking in Pertogan's household. Indeed, it was only after she finished that she realized that she may have broken the rules of propriety.
Pertogan waved off the excuse she made, obviously a
mused at her appetite and taking her behavior as a compliment.
Lord Pyne joined them only when Liane and Pertogan were already sipping their after-breakfast tea, and he insisted upon scanning Liane before partaking of any breakfast. Hers was the most severe case of healing he had been called upon to do for quite some time, and he wished to ensure that everything had gone as it should.
Nodding with satisfaction, he whispered a few minor healing spells to clean up any lingering cuts and abrasions that he had missed the previous evening, then sat to breakfast and completely abstained from conversation. The Assistant did not join them, and Liane regretted the lost opportunity to thank the young girl for her excellent assistance.
Steve only dragged himself in at an hour that was closer to noon than it was to breakfast, and Liane felt vaguely ashamed of her traveling companion's behavior. Before she could offer an apology, Pertogan was cutting her off. It wasn't the first time that a few days' hard work caused a late morning in his house, and he certainly wasn't about to hold it against any visitors under his roof.
Liane bitterly debated staying for lunch, knowing that she would need to get to the Capital as quickly as possible.
When she explained her dilemma to her host, the Necromancer nodded thoughtfully. “Have you thought about your route, My Lady?” he asked her.
The Pillar nodded. “I will make way to the Forest of Philip tonight, and take refuge there. Early tomorrow morning, I will go to Sevenoaks and hire the quickest transport I can find. I hope to reach the Capital late tomorrow.”
“The Forest of Philip? I believed it to be haunted,” the Necromancer replied, curiously.
“It was, until five years ago, My Lord. I broke the protection then, and I can reinstate it now. It will serve as a safe haven for tonight.”
Pertogan was silent for a few moments. “I will give you the fastest horse in my stable, My Lady. It may not be able to run all the way to Philip and then the Capital, but it will be able to get you there quicker on the trot than you are on foot.”
Liane twitched. She really disliked horses and riding, but the offer was genuine and would aid her considerably. “Thank you for the generous offer, My Lord. I will gratefully accept.”
Her host chuckled. “Despite your reluctance to ride and your aversion to horses,” he said.
Liane felt her cheeks heat for a second, then fought the emotion down. “It seems that gossip has reached you here, My Lord.”
“A Mage of your stature who prefers her feet to a horse is quite the talk, My Lady,” Pertogan answered calmly. He pulled himself upright. “I do believe that it has solved your initial conundrum, however. Given the horse, you will be able to reach Philip in a good five or six hours, so you can stay for lunch and be underway with a full stomach and ample provisions.”
“You are most generous, My Lord,” Liane answered gratefully, lacking the words to express her emotions to the man. He had gone beyond the bonds of their casual friendship in supporting her, and she would make sure never to forget it.
“I know, My Lady,” he said with a smirk. “I know.”
She hated herself for giggling at his casual reply; she really did. What was it about Necromancers that made them want to make silly jokes and get her to laugh?
They lapsed into silence, and Liane spent the few hours before lunch in a quiet contemplation. Her ever-active mind tried to play tricks on her, conjuring up devilish scenarios, playing on her fraying nerves with images of death and doom. In the light of day, behind powerful protective wards, surrounded by other magic-users, those conjured delusions held no power over her.
Lunch was a strange affair, a forced casual atmosphere that was underlined with her nervous energy. She knew she was about to leave, knew that she was about to be the target of every revolutionary Mage and Warlock out there. Despite herself, she didn't want to go. She wanted to remain here, and be safe.
It was only the knowledge of what might happen to Kiria that drove her on. She didn't know what was happening at the Capital. Part of her reasoned that the entire Kirian government would be behind resolving this, its entire magical might bearing down on those threatening internal war.
She tried contacting Milor again. The spell still failed, just as it had been doing half a dozen times a day ever since she found out about the barrier. If the wards around the city hadn't been broken yet, then whatever was happening at the city wasn't over yet. She couldn't assume that her help wouldn't be needed. Her knowledge of magical theory would be invaluable, as was her ability with Runic script – if there was one person capable of breaking those wards, it would be her.
So she thought, anyway. Who knew what else the government had in reserve? Perhaps it had done this itself? To protect its integrity? But for what reason?
The others at the table recognized her introspective mood, and respected her silence and mechanical motions. Conversations dropped off, Liane not even realizing the silence. Very few people could activate the kind of protection that now sealed off the Capital city, fewer still could raise it to its current levels. What would she find when she got there?
Even with magical communications blocked, there was no reason why riders on horseback couldn't be sent out to gather forces from the entire island. Since that hadn't been done – or if it had, nobody had contacted Pertogan – she had to assume that something else had happened, something that was preventing the government from working.
How many times would she have to fight on her way to the Capital? How many rogue Nobles were lying in wait for her and those like her? She looked down at her plate, suddenly realizing where she was. The food had been methodically shoved about, and very little of it had been eaten. She didn't feel like eating, anyway. Her thoughts had been occupied by subjects that had quelled her appetite.
She opened her mouth to apologize to Pertogan, only to stop when he raised his hand. “My Lady, no apology is necessary. We can all understand the importance and the gravity of your thoughts.”
Liane nodded gratefully, and tried to relax as the servants cleared down the meal. Her fear gave way to anxiety, a nervous burst of energy that trembled throughout her body. Suddenly, she could not sit still, and knew it was time to leave before her courage gave out.
Recognizing that his friend needed to leave, Pertogan got up from the cleared-down dinner table. “Come, My Lady, and I will have the most suitable horse for you brought from my stables.” He said the last part as he looked at the butler. The man dipped his head without saying a word, and left the room, presumably to follow his Lord's orders.
She thanked him, and followed, trying to banish the rising fear to the back of her mind. She was about to become a target once more, she would have to fight for her life, she would have to reach the Capital and do her best to save the entire nation. Or die trying.
It was that last part that scared her.
As they walked to the front door, Liane picked up Lucifer from the weapon's rack. She had decided she wasn't going to re-enter the house to say her goodbyes. The last thing she wanted was to run out of steam and change her mind about staying.
As she picked up her Legendary weapon, she noticed from the corner of her eye that Steve was reaching into one of the cabinets. Turning to face him fully, she saw him retrieve the strange weapon he had her build. Since it was of such an unusual shape for Kiria, it did not fit in the standard weapon's rack suited for swords and staves, and it seemed Pertogan had it stowed in a cabinet instead.
She frowned, wondering why the man would need his weapon. “Why are you retrieving your weapon?” she asked curiously.
The foreigner smiled at her. “I'd think that's obvious,” he answered roguishly. “I'm going with you.”
Her frown deepened slightly in displeasure. “I cannot, in good conscience, take you with me,” she replied, voice terse. “Despite your weapon, you have no protection against what is coming.”
He approached her, still wearing that roguish grin. Her body tensed, not receiving the angered response
she was expecting. “I am going with you,” the pilot declared.
“You are not,” she stated, putting the tip of her staff on the ground and straightening her spine. He was close now, too close. His physical superiority made her look up at him, but her Noble upbringing refused to back down.
He continued his approach, stepping into her personal space. Her heart hammered in her chest. Something wasn't right. He wasn't reacting as she had expected him to react, wasn't behaving as she expected him to behave. He towered above her now, his scent filling her nostrils.
He leaned down, her heart beat increasing. She froze, the completely unexpected behavior leaving her without a frame of reference. She didn't know how to respond. Suddenly, his one hand was at her neck – when had he done that? His lips met hers.
As far as first kisses went, Liane hadn't been sure what to expect, except that this wasn't it. She heard a gasp from someone, a sound that broke whatever shocked trance had frozen her.
Her free hand slapped his cheek, and she was sure there was some magic involved as well, as his head jerked a lot further than she had assumed it would, and the bright red imprint of her hand was a lot more defined that she had anticipated.
