The Magic, Warped

by Rick Field

  “What would you think would be the outcome if we were to hold amicable mock battles, My Lord?” she finally asked.

  “A mock battle, My Lady?” Milor asked, surprised. He remained silent for a few seconds, thinking it over, before answering her question. “The outcome would probably be similar to what happened yesterday.”

  “Probably, My Lord,” Liane acknowledged. “However, what if we were to do this regularly? Let’s say, two or three times a week?”

  Milor rubbed his chin in thought. “I think you would become used to battling a Warlock, My Lady.”

  “I would very much like to be able to hone my skills in battle, My Lord. Who better to do this with than a Warlock?” she asked.

  Milor was silent, rubbing his chin again. “I am intrigued, My Lady,” he admitted out loud. “However, I feel I must ask for a favor in return.”

  Liane nodded. “May I know this favor, My Lord? Or will I owe you a favor to be repaid in the future, at a time of your choosing?”

  Milor shook his head. “Nothing so drastic, My Lady. I merely wish for you to impart some of your own magical abilities upon me. I witnessed you taking apart your opponent’s sword with a mere wave of your hand, and use the metal in your defense. Knowing such magic will substantially increase my own prowess in battle.”

  She developed a truly large smirk. “Mastery over the element of metal took me a year, My Lord. However, if all that you wish to do is take apart metal weapons, I do believe I can build you the spell and teach it to you.”

  “Excellent!” Milor said, grinning slightly. “I believe we have an agreement, My Lady. When can I expect you?”

  “I will be released by the end of the week; I think the weekend will not be pleasant as Proctor will be drilling me, no doubt. However, Monday should have two hours free for lunch. Would this be a convenient time for you, My Lord?”

  Milor nodded once. “I do believe it will be, My Lady.”

  Liane smiled her thanks at him, before her smile grew into a tighter grin. “May I ask for one more favor, My Lord?”

  Her friend shrugged. “Once more, you can ask but I cannot guarantee a response, My Lady,” he replied.

  “Could My Lord teach me how to lift only one eyebrow?”

  His chuckles finally broke the air of uncertainty that had kept them in formal speech, and Liane was glad to feel some of the stress and worry slip away in easy conversation with her friend.

  Liane's recovery was marked by brief visits by Cassandra, to drop off new books and take away the previous ones; her stays just long enough to satisfy the Proctor-Assistant bond. During the lunch hours, Milor would often come and eat a take-away lunch with her, doing his best to ease her nerves and fears.

  Her days were spent reading, humming her favorite chant under her breath as she did so. Her nights were spent tossing and turning with fits of fretful sleep, night-terrors waking her up often. Always the same dream plagued her, that she would be cast out, that she would be rejected by Cassandra and the Academy, that she would have to go back to the orphanage, back to not having enough food, back to having to hunt and fish on the Emperor's lands in order not to starve.

  The dreams were not aided at all by Cassandra's brief and terse visits.

  When the day finally came for her to be released, Cassandra came to pick her up, and said nothing as the girl packed a few clothes into a carrying bag. When Liane was finally done with her small-time packing, Cassandra nodded. “Follow me, Assistant,” she said, turning and striding off.

  The younger girl swallowed, and trotted after the older girl, having to increase her pace in order to be able to keep up. Setting a brisk pace, Cassandra left the hospital building, walked to the Academy and entered, not leaving Liane her usual ten seconds to admire the glyphs and symbols on the main gates. The moment she entered, the flames on her robe flickered into life as it connected to the Academy.

  Liane had the impression that the gate was disappointed that she did not stop and look at it when she crossed the threshold, but that thought was soon pushed away as nervousness and rising apprehension took over her mind. Her magic reacted, moving away from an earth-like state to a more fluid, almost water-like state. Cassandra's face was a mask of ice as she walked; not once did she look back at her young Assistant. She was sure that Liane would follow, and the young girl was too frightened to even think about disappointing her again so soon.

  Liane blinked when they approached the laboratory building. She had assumed they would return to their quarters, where Cassandra could properly chastise her in private. Following silently, the young Assistant followed her Proctor down the stairs to the subterranean library.

  When they had descended four flights of stairs, Liane was surprised to see Cassandra halt at the staircase leading down to the advanced ritual chambers on the fifth level below ground. Facing the metal grate, Cassandra barked out, “Cassandra Airmistress. Plus Assistant,” she added after half a second, as if by afterthought.

  The grate grumbled, then retracted into the walls, sliding apart rather than rising as Liane had expected it to do. When the grate had cleared the way, Cassandra stepped down the stairs, not saying anything. Liane followed on automatic, her heart thumping in her chest. Just what did Cassandra have in mind?

  She followed the older girl down the staircase, emerging into a well-lit underground hallway lined with doors. As they walked down the hall, Liane could see that the doors were marked with wooden plaques that read the names of the students that had reserved the room, as well as the ritual they were conducting. Liane's eyes read the various notes. Wedding Ceremony. Burial Ritual. Power Rising Ritual.

  The Proctor halted in front of one of the doors, which bore the notification. “Cassandra Airmistress, Power transfer.” Liane's face went white as her body grew rigid with fear. Her magic froze, turning from liquid water into solid ice at a moment's notice, making her entire body shiver.

  Without saying anything, Cassandra pushed the door open. Liane remained outside for just a few seconds, trying to dredge up courage. She knew what those words meant.

  Cassandra was going to drain her magic. Images of that sickly Warlock's Assistant flashed through her mind, and Liane's body shook with rising terror. Cassandra was furious. She was going to bleed her magic dry as punishment. The young girl swallowed. She didn't want her magic drained.

  But she didn't want to be cast out either.

  Drawing a shaky breath, Liane's body crossed the threshold into the room. Underneath her robes, her body shook. Unbidden, the words to the chant came to her mind, and her lips quivered silently with the tune to the chant. Her breath formed small clouds in the air as her frozen magic created completely physical reactions.

  Liane hadn't felt fear and anxiety like this in a long time – more even than when she had faced the Warlock in the disastrous duel that had brought her here.

  The room was lit by a number of burning torches that lined the walls, as well as a chandelier filled with candles that hung overhead. This deep underground, there was no light from the Sun Charm, and the sensitive rituals could not be disturbed by normal magical lighting. The flickering flames cast strange and vaporous shadows that changed shape at whim. To Liane's terrified mind, this room was one of the most frightening locations she had ever encountered.

  “Stand in that circle, Assistant,” Cassandra said, drawing the athame from the sheath that hung from her belt and using it to point at one of the two circles on the floor. Liane didn't reply, but mechanically stepped to the indicated circle. Despite herself, she looked at the rest of the ritual depictions on the floor, the runes and glyphs flowing through each other in elaborate and remarkable forms, connecting the two circles together.

  Cassandra herself walked to the other circle, and took her place. She pricked her finger with the athame, and started the ritual.

  Her mind retreated in on itself, and Liane hardly heard the words uttered by her Proctor, feeling only the terror that pulsed in her heart and in her magic, paraly
zing both her body and her thoughts. The magic in the room started to rise, and Liane drew a startled breath, feeling the ritual take hold, the magic in it constricting around her.

  Her solid as ice magic melted, turning into a furiously raging liquid torrent, rising up against the pressure of the magic bearing down on her.

  She didn't want to lose her magic. She didn't want to be bled dry. She didn't... didn't want to be cast out. What should she do? Protect herself? Protest against her Proctor? Run away? Be cast out, only to have to return to the orphanage, back to a life of utter poverty and misery? Her magic stopped, stopping in mid-motion as it hung, suspended, unsure of how to proceed as her thoughts went from fear to resignation.

  But... if she went through with this... would her Proctor do it again? And again, and again, and again? How many times would she be brought to this awful room with its flickering torches and ghastly shadows, and have her magic drained as punishment for her dishonor?

  The ritual reached a crescendo, and silvery slips of magic went through her, touching her magic, reaching for the center of her very being. She drew a breath, and steeled herself. This was it. She was going to be drained of her magic now. It was going to hurt, she was sure of it.

  She didn't want it to hurt.

  But she had no choice. Her Proctor had decided... and her Proctor was who she needed to appease. Wrenching her eyes shut and tensing her body against the pain she knew would come, Liane never saw Cassandra jerk her hands sideways, and stop the incantation.

  A few seconds later, the magic in the room dissipated, the ritual disrupted. Slowly realizing that something wasn't right, Liane ventured to open one eye, only to see her Proctor stare at her with faint bemusement.

  “I believe I have told you that I consider this ritual cheating, Assistant,” she finally said when it became apparent that Liane would do nothing but stare at her.

  Her mind finally engaging, the younger girl just nodded. With an almost equally relieved breath, the magic in her chest fell, finally releasing its hold, as if pooling into a flaccid lake rather than a raging surf.

  “What made you think that I would go through with it, then, Assistant?” Cassandra asked.

  Liane swallowed. “I... I believed you were angry with me, Proctor. I assumed this was to be my punishment.”

  Her Proctor snorted. “It would be hypocritical of me to denounce the practice, then use it as a punishment, Assistant. I merely wished to understand it, and I believed that executing it, but interrupting it at the last moment, would further my understanding.”

  The young Assistant nodded, breathing deep with relief. “You were really that worried about this, Assistant?” Cassandra finally asked.

  “I... you were brief with me, Proctor,” Liane whispered. “You never stayed longer than the Proctor-Assistant bond required, only to bring me books. I... I believed you were still angry with me. Angry enough to not wish to talk with me.” Something broke, and Liane looked away when her eyes pricked with tears. “I did not wish to be cast out.”

  “Despite me telling you that I would not?” Cassandra asked, her voice taking on a gentler tone. “I apologize for my abruptness; I was researching this ritual and was going through the preparations for setting it up, and was quite engaged with it. I'm afraid that I let my focus get the better of me.”

  Liane just nodded, the floodgates breaking. A sob escaped her mouth. “E-every night, I dreamed... I dreamed you didn't want me anymore. That I needed to go b-back... back to the orphanage...”

  Cassandra took two steps to reach her distraught Assistant. With no warning, Liane turned, and grabbed Cassandra, burying her face against the older girl's chest, sobbing and crying loudly. She didn't hear the older girl lock down the door before reaching around to hug her Assistant.

  “You must have been really worried, Liane,” Cassandra whispered as she hugged the crying girl, one hand stroking her long hair. “It's alright. Let it all out.” The girl just clutched harder, sobbing into her Proctor's chest, releasing days of pent-up fear and anxiety.

  When she finally realized what she was doing, her tears and her fears had been spent, and she found herself seated next to Cassandra, still clutching the older girl. “P-Proctor,” she whispered, pulling away suddenly. “I'm s-sorry for my l-lack of D-Decorum.”

  “You must have been really worried,” Cassandra repeated herself. “I apologize for giving you that impression. It was not my intention.”

  Liane blushed now that her emotional control had completely left her. “P-Proctor shouldn't apologize to me...”

  Cassandra grabbed Liane's chin and gently brought the girl's face around so they looked each other in the eyes. “Proctor should apologize if she has caused this much emotional stress in her Assistant. Remember, a Proctor must care for and guide and teach their Assistant.”

  “Come, Assistant. Let's leave the emotional discussion for later, when our nerves have settled. I have a few more things for our schooling that I need to discuss with you.”

  The Assistant nodded. “Yes, Proctor.”

  “Good. Next year, some changes will take place. For one, I will be in my Year of Discovery, the year I attain my master's title. For this, I need to create a masterpiece, as proof of my skills and abilities. You will assist me in this endeavor – and I intend to make use of that excellent memory of yours. I plan to have you read every book I need, so that I only have to ask you when I need something, rather than need to reference each book as I need it. Not having to research will save a lot of time.”

  Liane swallowed. That sounded like a huge responsibility. “Yes, Proctor.”

  “The second change is that I will be required to bring you along to the official functions that I need to attend. Parties, dinners, and so on. I will therefore start teaching you etiquette, dress-sense, make-up, and all other things a young lady of noble standing must know in order to be able to attend such functions. You will mostly be required to be there should I need you, but that does not mean you don't need to put in a cared-for appearance.”

  That sounded interesting as well. “Yes, Proctor.”

  “Good,” Cassandra said, motioning over Liane's face as she did so, clearing up the tell-tale signs of the younger girl's crying. “Follow me, Assistant. We will go and retrieve the books I believe I will need, and you can get started on your assignment. Now, as we do this, what was written in Chapter Three of the Guide to Rare Metals?”

  As Liane recounted the chapter in question, Cassandra told the room that she was finished, setting it back to its blank state. As she closed the door, she removed the plaque from the door, and placed it in the 'blank' position next to it, freeing it for somebody else to use. Her Proctor continued to interrogate her about the various books she had read during her convalescence while pulling various books from the shelves in the library.

  By the time they returned to their quarters, Liane was carrying her pack with her clothes over one shoulder, while her arms were filled with books: Air and Tranquility, the Air and Weather trilogy, Air: the plentiful element, and Winds, Tornadoes, Storms and various Air Masteries. Most books were soft-bound leather, and of varied thickness, while Winds, Tornados, Storms and various Air Masteries was an old book with a thick leather-encased hardcover, easily twice as thick as any single other book.

  It almost had to be, as it came from that highly-restricted fourth level of the library. Liane could not wait to start reading it.

  Chapter Five

  On the third floor of the laboratory building of the Kirian Academy of Magic, in one of the smaller dueling chambers, stood two third-year students, facing each other.

  Twelve-year-old Liane lifted her hands, and nodded to her opponent. Milor lifted his sword and nodded in answer.

  Her initial incantation continued even though she was forced to dodge after he took three rapid steps and aimed his sword at her head. Ducking underneath his opening strike, her own salvo reached crescendo as her spell completed, a minor spark of static electricity jumping f
rom her hands, before being grounded through his rapidly returning sword.

  “Well done, My Lady,” Milor said as they stepped away from each other. “You have ducked, rather than dodged, and did not stop your incantation that time.”

  “My Lord is too kind,” Liane answered. “Had he followed up, I would have been open to attack. My spell had been expended.”

  “Had that been a full lightning strike, My Lady, I do not believe that I would have been in a position to follow up on my successful parry,” Milor answered easily, having gotten used to Liane holding herself to impossibly high standards.

  “I am still studying the element of lightning, My Lord. I would not have been able to contain or use a full lightning strike.” She smiled a little lopsidedly. “I am looking forward to fifth year, when I finally get to study the element of fire.”

  Milor Lightningworker grinned in answer. “I must admit to feeling a bit insulted at the casual way you dismiss my primary element in favor of mere fire, My Lady.”

  Liane dipped her head. “My apologies, My Lord. No offense intended,” she said, knowing very well that he was not insulted and was merely making a comment. “Lightning is a very powerful element, however, it is nearly impossible to control, and requires the creation of an effective path down which it can travel. Fire, on the other hand, merely requires fuel, heat, and oxygen. The first two are taking care of by magic. The last one is all around us.”

  Milor shrugged. “One day I will make you regret those words, My Lady,” he promised, although a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Let us go again. Once more, please do not use your mastery over my sword, although I am sure that the blacksmith would disagree with me.”

  Liane dipped her head. After half a dozen swords, Milor had finally put his foot down and refused to let her disassemble his sword during their sparring matches. Once more, they took their positions, and Liane raised her hands, ready to cast. Milor lifted his sword, and nodded. She responded to his nod.