The Magic, Warped

by Rick Field

  “Yes, Proctor,” Liane spoke, excited at the prospect of being allowed to look around in the restricted library sections. She also knew that a lot of work was in her immediate future, but Liane didn't care in the least. She would check out her fiction book – she still wanted to read about dragons – and read the rest of the spell modification book. Who knows what other, more advanced, techniques would be available to her?

  Chapter Four

  Now a growing second-year student, Liane exited the administrative building after a nice lunch, walking next to Milor. In the year and a half since she officially started at the Academy, Liane had made huge progress in Decorum, and she now felt comfortable in moving through the upper-class group that was the student body of the Kirian Academy of Magic. She listened to her friend explaining some finer points of Decorum when they passed an upperclassman, who had a tiny little Assistant trailing behind him.

  Milor's explanation halted slightly at the sick look of the young Assistant, his eyes trailing the small boy who seemed to have trouble in not dragging his feet.

  Liane sighed slightly. “Some Proctors do not take good care of their Assistants, My Lord,” she whispered sadly. “Through the Proctor-Assistant bond, it is possible for the Proctor to call upon the magic of the Assistant, to allow for the creation and casting of spells that are beyond the Proctor's grasp normally.” She stopped and looked at the retreating pair. “Unfortunately, it seems that particular Proctor is using his Assistant in such a manner.”

  Her friend nodded. “I understand, My Lady. Even if I do not approve of it.”

  “It is the risk we take when we become Assistants, My Lord,” she explained as they resumed their course to the laboratory building, and their final target, the Library. “It is the prerogative of the Proctor, and the risk of the Assistant. Some feel that an Assistant learns much from such encounters, while others disagree. As with all debates, both sides have their good points and their bad points.”

  She turned to look at the disappearing Warlock and his sickly Assistant, and Liane was glad that Cassandra was not one to use such rituals herself.

  “Good afternoon, My Lord, My Lady,” a rather large Warlock said, walking up to them. Liane forced herself not to react, seeing that the Warlock in question was accompanied by Florindra, the girl that had been making her life difficult since they both started at the Academy.

  “My Lord, My Lady,” Liane greeted them, dredging up the name of a Warlock she had hardly seen since the introduction classes they had taken together. Fylian, that was his name. Fylian Earthworker.

  “My apologies for interrupting, My Lord, My Lady,” Fylian said, as Florindra's lips tightened into a tiny little smile that had just enough viciousness in it to be noticeable, but not enough to actually make it obvious. Florindra was good at Decorum. “When I heard My Lady's excellent explanation on the bond between Proctor and Assistant, I felt compelled to join your conversation.” He looked at Liane solely, then. “After all, I am quite surprised to hear such an excellent explanation on magic from someone who struggles with it so.”

  Liane swallowed deeply. Her inability to cast magic straight out of a book was a sore point with her, one she had been struggling to overcome. She had gotten better at manipulating magic, lots better, in fact, but she still needed time to manipulate the spell into being accepted by her unstable magical core.

  “Proctor is an excellent teacher in magical theory, My Lord,” Liane replied, her eyes drifting to his collar, noting the Assistant insignia. He was an Assistant as well. “And as My Lord may not know, I am improving in my ability to cast magic.”

  “Of course, My Lady,” Florindra said. “I am witness to that in every Elemental Magic lesson.” The agreement sounded disturbingly sarcastic to Liane, but as usual, Florindra had timed and pitched it so that it was not something that she could be called out upon.

  Fylian was silent for a few moments, studying her. “Perhaps, My Lady,” he allowed to Florindra. “I do wonder, however, at the effectiveness and the knowledge of a Proctor that has an Assistant that needs to write out magical spells before she is able to cast them.”

  “Proctor is an excellent Mage, My Lord. I find your comment insulting,” Liane spoke, feeling anger bubble inside of her, while her magic became agitated.

  “No insult intended, I was merely making an observation, My Lady. After all, even you must admit that your skills at magic are less than desirable.”

  “As My Lady Florindra can attest, I am at the top of my class at magical theory, My Lord,” Liane said, her tone growing progressively colder. The anger made her body tremble. The magic in her chest grew from solid earth to crashing water.

  “Yet you have trouble casting spells, My Lady. Now, I realize that this is not your fault,” he spoke magnanimously. “Perhaps I should ask my Proctor to call upon yours? She might need a few pointers in how to educate an Assistant?”

  Another slight against her Proctor, and Liane nearly lost her temper. Drawing a deep breath and swallowing, Liane looked the Warlock straight in the eyes. “I find your comments insulting, My Lord. I bid you to apologize for the slights against me and my Proctor.”

  “I refuse to apologize for legitimate comments, My Lady,” Fylian said, coolly.

  “You are a cad, My Lord.”

  She heard Milor and Florindra draw a startled breath, while the Warlock in front of her stilled.

  “I take exception to your comment, and demand an apology, My Lady,” Fylian stated, his voice a curious mix of hot and cold.

  “Yet you shall receive the same statement that I have received, My Lord. I refuse to apologize for legitimate comments,” Liane replied, drawing herself up to her full height.

  The boy before her was silent for five long seconds, his face twitching as if he were desperately trying to contain himself. “Please arrive at the main dueling chamber in one hour, My Lady,” he said, his voice totally devoid of emotions. “Choose your second, and arrive on time or be forever known as a coward.” He drew a glove out of his robes, and slapped her in the face with it. “I demand your blood or your surrender,” he finished the ritual challenge.

  Liane drew pale as the boy stalked away, Florindra right next to him, shooting Liane a victorious grin over her shoulder.

  “My Lady?”

  Liane startled out of her confusion and shock, and looked at Milor. “My Lord?” she finally whispered in answer.

  “You have been challenged, My Lady. It would be inadvisable not to show up,” he said, gently.

  She nodded, her heart thumping and her palms sweaty now that her initial shock had worn off. She drew another breath, trying to still herself. It failed. With a force of will she didn't know she possessed, she made her decision. “My Lord, it would be my biggest honor should you accept my request to act as my second.”

  “It would be my biggest honor to accept, My Lady,” Milor answered smoothly, bowing slightly at his acceptance, although he must have been surprised at being asked instead of her Proctor. “We must prepare for the duel, My Lady. Please follow me.”

  An hour later, Liane and Milor were present in the main dueling chamber, a large square room on the ground level of the laboratory building. The entire room was black, the only light coming in through one side, which was a completely transparent glass wall. The glass wall was standard in every classroom, allowing in ample light. The blackness of the other walls was not. To Liane's activated magical sight, the black surfaces were coated with twinkling golden magical symbols – symbols of protection, of warding, and of disbursement.

  It was designed to allow damage only to the combatants, while protecting the spectators standing within the designated zones, zones that would be sealed off to prevent combatants from entering them as soon as the duel started.

  Duels were a legacy allowed from older times, a way of settling differences that was both quick and permanent. At the Academy, most duels happened at the start of the school year. They tapered off quickly when the new students realize
d that a duel was almost always fatal. The upperclassmen rarely engaged in duels, and the slights were bigger compared to the younger students, who sometimes called duels over futilities.

  Just as was expected of them, students learned quickly not to call a duel over small matters.

  When Fylian arrived, with Florindra as his second, he was accompanied by a good number of other Warlocks, people that had gone through the introduction class in magic with Milor and Liane, people she had not seen since then. The nervousness made her jumpy, as Liane realized that she was about to enter a battle to the death, a fight that could very well take her life.

  Milor's counsel played in her mind. Do not try to match him with strength, My Lady. Warlocks train four hours each day in the combat arts. It is doubtful that you would be a match for him in strength.

  The Lord Master entered, and Liane felt her nerves jump from apprehension to terror as his mere presence petrified her magic. She was still afraid of the man and his terrible amount of power, and she hated herself for it. Her body shook with nerves and apprehension, and Liane allowed her eyes to nervously skitter around the audience. She wished that she had talked to Cassandra. Her Proctor would surely have had some good advice. Fretfully, her thoughts jumped to the one duel Cassandra had taken her to last year.

  That duel had lasted merely thirty seconds, and ended in a full decapitation. Liane recalled the humiliating squeak she had uttered at the sight. Thankfully, she had not been alone in that regard and her Proctor had graciously enough not mentioned her startling lapse in Decorum. Balling her fists, Liane hoped that she would be able to contain herself better this time. Looking down, she could see her hands shaking. So far, things did not look well.

  Drawing a deep yet shaky breath, Liane looked at Fylian, determined to focus on her opponent rather than the Lord Master or her fearful nerves. It helped. Barely. Her heart thumping in her throat, Liane walked to her designated spot, her opponent doing the same.

  “As Lord Headmaster of this Academy, it is my duty to officiate this duel,” he said, calmly, looking each of them in the eye. Liane felt her magic jump as his eyes locked on hers. “I must ask one final time whether this can be resolved through peaceful means. My Lord Fylian Earthworker?”

  “I will only be satisfied by blood or by apology,” he stated, coldly, not taking his eyes off her.

  “My Lady Liane, the MagicWarper?” the Lord Master asked, looking at her.

  “I will not apologize for my words, as they were truth,” Liane answered, trying to be as calm as Fylian was, yet failing miserably.

  The Lord Master nodded. “Very well. As the challenged, you are allowed to choose the method of combat, My Lady,” he said, retaining his focus on her.

  She had discussed it with Milor in the preceding hour, and the best option had been discussed. “I choose full combat, My Lord. Anything goes,” Liane answered. This would be her best option, using her faster spells to prevent him from using his stronger, longer-casting ones.

  The Lord Master looked at Fylian, who nodded his acceptance in return. “On my mark, please begin, My Lord, My Lady,” he spoke, lifting one hand. His hand came down. “Begin.”

  Fylian began by drawing his sword, taking a combat stance as he did so. She allowed a tiny smile to grace her mouth, and with a single jerk of her hands and a small uttering of syllables, she demonstrated her mastery over the element of metal.

  The sword broke apart, forming five spheres that rotated lazily in front of her. “Foolish to draw a sword against a Mage that is master of metal, My Lord,” she said in youthful hubris, grinning widely at his startled look.

  Fylian blinked twice, smirked, lifted his hand and barked a single short word.

  To Liane's magical sight, black energy gathered at his hand, energy which subsequently leaped towards her. Shaking, she threw herself to one side, rolling gracelessly over the floor, feeling her body protest the unfamiliar motions. She clambered to her legs just as he uttered a similar phrase, this time two words rather than one, and the energy formed into a beam rather than a single bolt.

  Again, Liane threw herself to one side, feeling the entire right side of her body form a single, solid bruise as she threw herself aside with all of her might. Thanks to the awkward position she had been in before her throw, and thanks to the even more awkward position in which she landed, she was unable to roll.

  Fylian's beam of black magic tracked her position, and knowing that she had no chance to get away; Liane lifted her hand and spoke a single half-word. Her magic reached to the five circling metal spheres, which formed into a single circular shield in front of her, allowing her to crawl to her legs while her mouth worked follow-up incantations.

  The flat disc deflected the beam long enough for her magic to strengthen it, going from normal steel to tungsten carbide, the strongest metal she had been taught at the Metal Elemental classes. More words rolled off Fylian's lips, changing the beam in power and intensity, and Liane crouched completely behind her metal shield. Her own spells increased the molecular bonds in her tungsten carbine shield, allowing it to resist the increased pressure of Fylian's weapon.

  Feeling the edges of the shield start to fray, Liane closed her eyes, dropping deeper into her magic, incanting spells of strength and integrity. Do not attempt to match him with strength, Milor counseled once more, yet Liane knew that she had been locked in now. She could not stop her spells or her shield would collapse, and there was no way that she could dodge out of the way fast enough to avoid being hit by that lethal spell.

  If it was able to go through tungsten carbide, it would have no trouble at all with her frail little 11-year-old body. Growling, she pressed her hands together, linking her physical aspects into her spell, offloading some of the strain to maintain cohesion from her magic to her hands.

  Immediately, she could feel the magic trying to push her hands apart, forcing her to push with all of her strength. If she allowed her hands to come apart, her shield would fail. Words rolled off her lips, boosting the strength and integrity of her shield through magic as well as physical force.

  But still her hands were pushed apart. Lacing her fingers together, she now relied not just on the force of her hands but on the strength of her fingers gripping the opposite hand. His beam continued to increase in strength, and Liane knew that she had no way of strengthening her shield even further. There was only so much metal in the sword, after all, and she had no time to stop repairing her shield to conjure more.

  She was going to fail, it was only a matter of time, and there was nothing she could do about it. Already, the shield was fraying visibly around the edge, every second taking more metal away from her reach, the opposing spell destroying the molecular bonds of the metal, putting it out of the reach of her repairing and strengthening spells. A growl came from her throat as the force on her hands started overcoming the strength of her muscles and bones.

  To Liane, it felt as if her hands were being ripped apart. Thanks to the amount of pressure being put on them by the magical link, they actually were. She couldn't win. She knew that. Fear gripped her heart, paralyzing the magic surging through her body and her mind, making her realize that she was staring at her own death.

  Looking her own unmaking in the face was horrible, and Liane's concentration started to break, allowing her pain to finally overwhelm her. She opened her hands by instinct, no longer able to overcome the purely instinctual reaction of pulling away from that what was hurting her.

  The moment contact was lost between her hands, her spells shattered, and the shield disintegrated.

  Feeling rather than seeing the beam approach, Liane threw up her hands, as if wishing that the mere presence of her hands could overcome a lethal spell. The magic in her chest screamed in concert with her mouth as the spell made contact with her right hand, and a searing pain shot through her entire body.

  Darkness crept on her vision, and for one moment, Liane thought she saw her right arm, bared of robes, yet smoking. Her last thought was
that it was probably just a hallucination brought on by her dying body as darkness claimed her completely.

  *****

  Liane blinked her eyes open, awaking from a deep black hole that had surrounded her thoughts and consciousness, and took stock of her surroundings. The second year student frowned. Where was she?

  It looked like the same hospital she had first woken up in when she was eight years old; right after her magic had broken. Slowly, she looked around. Yes, this was the same hospital – same room, even.

  She took stock of her body. Everything hurt. Her fingers hurt when she wiggled them. Her arms hurt when she moved them. Her chest hurt when she breathed in, and hurt again when she breathed out. Her eyes hurt when she blinked, and even when she didn't. Her feet and legs hurt. Everything hurt.

  She grit her teeth, and lifted her upper body, taking a look at herself. She was underneath the covers, except for her arms that were lying on top of them. Blind panic gripped through her when she saw her naked hands. Without her focus gloves she wouldn’t be able to cast magic! She let out a sharp pain-filled yelp when she sat upright in her daze, looking around for her focus gloves.

  A deep sigh of relief escaped her lips when she saw them on the nightstand, and pain and exhaustion made her fall back in her bed. On her back, staring at the ceiling, she breathed as deeply as she could through her hurting lungs and chest, trying to fight off the pain and the dizziness that continued to threaten to send her back to the oblivion from which she had awoken so recently.

  She was in the hospital, her entire body hurt, and her focus gloves were on the nightstand. Which brought the next question – why was she in the hospital?

  She closed her eyes, and tried to think back. What had happened? She had escorted her Proctor from her General Applications class to lunch. During lunch, she had met with the Lord Milor Lightningworker. They had walked to the library afterward – that much she could remember clearly. What had happened after that?