The Magic, Warped (The MagicWarper Trilogy Book 1)

by Rick Field

  “My Lady, My Lord,” Pertogan said after the figures left, “it is agreeable to see you again, although I wished it were under better circumstances.”

  “My Lord Pertogan. It is good to see you again as well,” Milor replied.

  Liane nodded to her former classmate. “It is agreeable to see you again as well, Lord Pertogan. It seems that the intervening years have been kind to you.”

  “I have learned much, My Lady. I have the luck of having a benevolent Master,” Pertogan answered. “Unfortunately, my time in the city will be short, we must leave tomorrow. May I ask whether you are available for dinner tonight? It would be interesting to compare the different roads our lives have taken.”

  Liane nodded at once. Any chance to learn magic she did not already know would be grasped with two hands. “I am available, My Lord. It would be my honor to join you.”

  Milor's face grew still. “Unfortunately, I am otherwise occupied tonight, My Lord,” he said, levelly. “I hope I cause no offense for my rapid departure, but I have some things that I need to take care of.”

  “Of course not, My Lord,” Pertogan said, about as jovial as one could be under Decorum.

  “My Lady, Assistant,” Milor said, nodding a greeting to Liane and Amy, before giving a curter nod to Pertogan. “My Lord.”

  Liane frowned slightly as her friend left rather abruptly. It was outside of his regular behavior, and she wondered what had caused him to turn down an invitation for a meal and leave so abruptly.

  Deciding on asking him tomorrow, she looked back to Pertogan. “Where shall we meet, My Lord?” she asked.

  Chapter Eight

  Amy stood and watched in a corner of the advanced ritual room as Liane bustled about. This was a different room than usual, and Amy looked on as Liane set up a completely new ritual.

  “Proctor?” she finally ventured. She had been standing here, looking, for the last half hour and was getting impatient.

  “Assistant?” Liane asked back, not looking up from her work.

  “May I ask why you have entered an unused ritual room? And why you are setting up what appears to be a power sealing ritual?” the little girl asked.

  “The Lord Milor Lightningcrafter has been steadily declining in his conduct, Assistant. Ever since I struck up correspondence with Lord Pertogan, he has been either avoiding me, or behaving tersely towards me,” she said, looking up from where she had completed the large outer circle.

  “It is becoming increasingly annoying. I am hoping that I will be able to use this ritual in today's mock combat session to seal his magic and demand answers,” she finished, returning to her work. “It's also the reason I am doing this manually. Inscribing the runes, glyphs, and other magical symbols manually is relaxing.”

  Amy fell silent and just watched as Liane finished her preparations. Finally, the older girl seemed to be happy with her work, stood up, and walked to the center of the room, placing a few strands of hair in the small circle of symbols made there.

  She drew her wand and started chanting, and Amy forced herself not to smile. Her Proctor had a beautiful voice, especially when chanting. It was a side-effect of always humming or singing a power raising chant when she was nervous.

  The magic in the room started to spiral up, rising to Liane's commands, waiting to do her bidding, eager to submit itself to her commands.

  Just as the ritual was about to finish, Liane clapped her hands, and barked out a halting spell. The magic in the room hung in the air, heavy and oppressive, frustrated in its halted purpose.

  “The ritual will hold until I give the release command,” Liane spoke to Amy. “As it's not part of the ritual, it's one of my own spells. If you are interested, I will give you the normal version later.”

  The young Assistant nodded. “Thank you, Proctor.”

  Liane gave a short nod in acknowledgment of the gratitude and the implied acceptance. “We should make our way to the top floor. It's only fifteen more minutes before my scheduled mock combat session with My Lord Milor Lightningcrafter.” An almost eager grin spread on her lips. “And I am looking forward to this session.”

  They didn't have to wait long once they reached the top floor, as Milor was his customary few minutes early.

  “My Lord,” Liane greeted when she saw her friend. She hoped he was back to normal, so she wouldn't need to finish the ritual.

  “My Lady,” Milor nodded in greeting. “I find my time limited once more, shall we begin?” he asked immediately after as he motioned to the door to the dueling chamber.

  Liane released her breath. He had not changed, and once more Liane asked herself why her friend had changed so much. “Very well, My Lord,” she replied curtly, not wanting to show how much his snubbing hurt her.

  As they entered the room, Liane hoped that the power sealing ritual would be able to get through to him. Without further words, Liane and Milor took their positions, facing each other, and Amy withdrew herself to one of the corners, out of the way. There would be no dueling shields erected that would keep her safe, after all.

  Immediately, Milor charged with wordlessly cast lightning bolts, one after another. As they snapped towards her, Liane was forced to dodge, duck, and roll out of the way of the continuous barrage of lethal magic.

  She could feel the power in the spells, and knew that they would be quite painful should they hit her. Her magic would protect her, as it always did and had, but she was not looking forward to another three days of forced magic deprivation should it be forced to do so.

  Last time, Amy had been able to cover for her, but tomorrow school would start up again, and there was no way that her Assistant would be able to cover for her during actual classes.

  As she dodged his no-nonsense barrage of spells, Liane's hands waved, her voice calling on fire and giving it shape. Casting fire without the 'fuel' of the triangle of fire would require her to anchor the spell into her magic, substituting her own reserves as fuel.

  She suddenly reversed the direction of her dodging, throwing off his aim and letting him know that he had been lured into complacency and expectations of her method and direction of movement. As she stood up in the half a second time the move had bought her, she finished off her magical fire.

  Fire streamed from her right hand into a puddle on the floor, immediately flowing into the shape and size of a wild boar. Milor's follow-up spell struck the fire.

  The boar-fire was immune to lightning, and charged Liane's opponent. As his attention focused on the more immediate threat, Liane drew her wand, and snapped a few words of power. Energy filled the air of the duel room, reaching to the ritual chamber, five floors below ground.

  The stasis on the ritual broke, and it completed upon her urging.

  Milor swiped at the boar-fire with his sword, 'decapitating' it, and using the sword's magical disruption properties to disperse the fiery animal. He looked up in time to hear her cast, and he snapped a bolt of Death Magic at her – strong enough to sting, not strong enough to do damage – in an effort to teach her not to go for the big and impressive magics that had no place in duel or combat.

  To his utter surprise, his spell failed to materialize. Instead, he got just a few motes of magic, a tiny gust of wind that dispersed immediately.

  Liane placed her wand back in its sheath, her face sporting a smile that was just a tiny bit ferocious.

  He tried again, and this time he only got the words coming out of his mouth.

  “I have performed a power sealing ritual, My Lord. Please surrender at this point,” Liane spoke. “Using hair I have collected from you for our repeated Blood Magic experiments, I initiated the ritual this morning, and suspended it, until I completed it just now. For the next hour, you will not be able to use magic.”

  Milor blinked, and dipped his head. “A tactic one would be unable to use in battle, but one that is valid against a regular opponent,” he noted. Much to her surprise, he drew his sword, and charged.

  Liane almost let out an undigni
fied squeak, and managed to dodge using the very Warlock acceleration techniques he had taught her in years past. The synesthesia that came with the spell generated a nauseating vertigo she ignored with years of practice, and snapped her hands out.

  The blade of his sword vanished with a load clanging noise, breaking off his second assault.

  “Please do not forget who I am, My Lord. I am the Prime Student of the Academy once again. I am also the one who enchanted your sword, and so I know its limitations. Please surrender,” she stated regally as he stared at the hilt in his hands.

  She was sure that he would surrender.

  Instead, his face twitched, and faster than she had imagined, he had drawn a dagger from his robes and charged her with a rapid and ferocious assault. She dodged the repeated strikes, strikes that were too fast for her to focus on her magic.

  Backward and backward she dodged, until her back hit the wall, and his body pinned hers, his left hand holding an iron grip on her right wrist, pinning it to the wall. His right hand held his dagger at her neck, and his body had pinned hers. She was totally defenseless.

  Panic rose in her chest, her magic thick like syrup and black as coal while it pushed through her veins. Her vision dimmed as her heartbeat raced. Her breath came in short gasps, and for one moment, she was back to being an eight-year-old orphan held captive by a grown man with a sword at her throat.

  Her body trembled, magic gathering like an invisible cloud that shone to her magic sight, waiting for her word of release, ready to destroy and tear, to unmake and annihilate. This was not beautiful magic; this was not magic of creation.

  This was magic of unmaking, of destruction. This magic was raw and powerful, the kind of magic that she wielded when truly pressed or truly angry.

  She swallowed, felt his dagger at her throat, and her mind gripped for the correct words, the words that would trigger the release of the massive buildup of energy.

  It was only when she blinked, and realized that it was Milor's face that she was looking at, that she relented. No, she told herself. This is Milor. Milor would never hurt me. Milor would never hurt me.

  Like a mantra, she repeated her thought to herself. Milor would never hurt me.

  Her breathing and heartbeat calmed down slowly as she fought down her panic attack. The magic that had been gathering dispersed, slowly, as if disappointed.

  Milor never knew how close he had come to death right then, nor did he realize the turmoil that she had been in, when he finally talked.

  “It would do you well to remember, My Lady, that a Warlock can fight with more than just magic,” he said, his face so close to hers that she could smell the mint on his breath and the lavender of his cologne. “We train four hours each day. We learn to predict our opponents, we learn how to move, and we learn tactics and strategy.”

  She swallowed deeply, unaccustomed to the close contact. Before she could reply, he went on to say, “You were lucky against your Warlock opponent in the battle back then, but it would do you well to remember that you were offered two chances to go away, a clear indication that your opponent did not take the fight seriously enough.”

  “Your point is well received, My Lord,” she finally answered, now that he gave her a chance to do so. Her friend was unusually intense today, clearly demonstrated by his reprimand, as well as the fact that he still had her pinned and showed no signs of letting her go.

  “And hence you were able to predict my movements and force me to put my own back against the wall, My Lord?” she asked, trying to defuse the situation.

  “Exactly, My Lady,” he answered coolly.

  “Your point is well-received, My Lord,” she repeated her earlier statement. “You may now release me.”

  A faint of humor finally seemed to enter his features. “Perhaps I am enjoying having you at my mercy, My Lady,” he answered, his voice no longer as foreboding as it had been earlier. Vaguely, she wondered at his change of demeanor.

  “And yet you have continued to avoid me ever since that battle, My Lord,” she replied, no longer feeling as disturbed as she should, having his weapon at her throat. She trusted him. Her magic had fully dispersed by now. She would not have hesitated to flatten anyone else.

  Some wounds never healed, and having a weapon at one's throat was one of them.

  He flinched as if struck, and stepped back. “My apologies, My Lady,” he said demurely, looking at where he had dropped the hilt of his sword. “It seems I have been... remiss... in my conduct and that I drove you past endurance.”

  “I will, of course, reimburse you for the weapon, My Lord,” she said, avoiding his implied apology.

  He swallowed, and looked at her. He drew a deep breath, and released it, recognizing the fact that she would reimburse him for the weapon – and the implication that she wouldn't re-enchant it.

  Ever since their first year, he had been the one to pay for the weapons she destroyed. The statement that she would reimburse him and the implied threat of not enchanting his blade were enough to make him realize just how far their friendship had deteriorated.

  “I have been very remiss in my conduct, My Lady. Please allow me to offer my apologies,” he finally said, looking at her.

  She was silent for ten seconds. Ten long seconds, seconds that actually made him realize that she might not accept his apology. “May I ask what has you in such an abysmal mood for the last month and a half?”

  He opened his mouth as if to reply, then closed it, obviously debating his answer. “I would suggest honesty, My Lord,” she advised him when he continued to hesitate.

  Milor nodded. “I found myself jealous, My Lady,” he said, his voice sounding pained. “You seemed to strike up an immediate cordial relationship with the Lord Pertogan, and I found myself jealous at the ease of it.”

  He obviously wasn't finished, although what he had said so far was very surprising to her. Her friend was jealous because she exchanged a few letters with Lord Pertogan?

  “I also found myself... afraid, My Lady,” her friend continued. “I am aware of the fact that my presence almost got you killed. I am also aware that Lord Pertogan has even more exotic magic, magic that you would love learning about. I found myself afraid of being replaced as your friend, My Lady. I apologize for my abysmal conduct.”

  Liane didn't really know what to say. His replies had been one revelation after another, things she never would have guessed. “I am merely exchanging a few letters with Lord Pertogan, My Lord. We had one dinner, at an exceedingly formal place, where the food was excellent but the atmosphere too coldly formal to be enjoyable.”

  She stepped up to him, where he was toying awkwardly with the hilt of his sword. “You need never worry about my loyalty, My Lord. I would not step away under duress, so there is little chance of me stepping away under other conditions. You have been my friend since the day we started at this Academy, and unless you continue to snub me, there is very little chance of me abandoning said friendship.”

  He actually looked relieved at her words. “Thank you, My Lady.”

  She dipped her head in response. She looked at the hilt of his sword. “Unfortunately, I used transmutation rather than elemental magic to disperse the sword, so I cannot rebuild it. Air is difficult, if not impossible, to transmute.”

  “I will get a new blade, My Lady. I believe the blacksmith will welcome my patronage,” he said.

  “Please let me know when you do, My Lord. I have some new runic schemes that I believe will increase the protection even further,” she told him, removing the last of her implied threats.

  He would pay for the weapon, she would do the enchanting. Everything was back to normal.

  Milor smiled lightly, about as much as Decorum allowed. “Once again, I thank you, My Lady.”

  “You are welcome, My Lord,” Liane answered formally, returning his smile with one of her own.

  “I believe that, after such a conversation, we could both use some rest. When would be convenient for you to have our n
ext session, My Lady?” Milor asked, trying to sound normal, but a note of hopefulness still making it through.

  “I find myself with only four courses this year, My Lord: General Applications, Elemental Magic, Hexes & Curses, and Deep Secrets & Ancient Lore. That means that I have two hours free each afternoon in which we could have further sessions, or during which I could prepare for class should you be indisposed.”

  “Unfortunately, this year, the Warlock Arts are a single block of four hours in the afternoon, so I will not be available. We could, however, hold our sessions after dinner. As I am only taking Curses & Hexes, I have plenty of time available in the mornings for my preparations.”

  Liane scowled slightly at his mention of only taking one extra class, but didn't comment on the subject. “That sounds good, My Lord. I am looking forward to it.”

  “As am I, My Lady. As am I,” he answered levelly, and walked out of the room, a bounce in his step that hadn't been there for quite some time. Liane closed the door behind herself and Amy, making sure that the room was clean.

  They walked in silence to the advanced ritual room to clean up the power sealing ritual. The moment both were in private, Liane turned to Amy. “That went well, Assistant.”

  “Yes, Proctor,” Amy said, beginning the process of dismantling the ritual circles in the appropriate way. “Although it is curious that the Lord Milor would be jealous of a simple correspondence with Lord Pertogan. Perhaps he feels more than simple friendship for you?”

  Liane shot her Assistant an annoyed look. The little girl diplomatically acted as if she did not see. “I have told you before, Assistant, we are just friends.”

  “Of course, Proctor.”

  The next morning, after waking up and morning rituals, Liane turned to Amy before leaving the room.

  “Amy, we are about to leave for Deep Secrets & Ancient Lore. As you are my Assistant, and took the same vows of secrecy as I did, you will be allowed entry. I know you will make me proud – and I would like to reiterate to you that you should not abuse what you will learn.”