by Rick Field
Her anger at Yari had died down, and Liane closed her eyes once more, working over the runic inscriptions on the bracers currently fused around Milor's forearms. They were permanent enchantments, blood-linked to the incarcerated person, using their own magic against them.
It was insidious, horrible, and brilliant. Liane partly reviled and partly admired the person who had come up with them. She could see the point of needing to lock an offending Noble's magic to prevent them from doing harm, but there were clear and elegant solutions other than resorting to using brutal, and painful, permanent enchantments.
She'd learned plenty of power-locking rituals during Rituals & Ceremonies, some of them permanent unless reversed by a corresponding counter-ritual. To use extended arm cuffs, with permanent enchantments, was both painful, brutal, and ignoble.
She shook her head. The reasons behind their creation and use would not be of help now. She needed to figure out a way around them, disable them, disarm them. Whoever had designed them had been intelligent enough to make them almost impervious to magic, and any magic powerful enough to overwhelm the bracelets was quite likely to maim the afflicted person's arms in the process anyway.
Milor might be able to do magic again, but with his arms amputated at the elbow he could make precious little use of it.
No, she would have to go about it the long way, find ways to superimpose her own will on the runes, write her own counter-spells upon the metal, canceling the current sequences with specially designed constructs that would negate their current use without catastrophically releasing their stored energy. Such catastrophic failure might take off her hands if it were directed outward, or take off Milor's if directed inward; either of which was not the desired result.
It would take quite some time to work around them.
A few hours later, a more pressing matter made itself known. With the door locked, and only a bucket to share between them, there was to be no privacy. And while Milor would be able to get away with turning his back to Amy and Liane and aiming carefully for the bucket, neither female had such luxury.
It was humiliating to the extreme, even if Milor ostentatiously turned his back and indulged his suddenly found interest in the opposing wall, exploring its irregularities in great detail.
The issue of the single bed wasn't an issue, until night fell. Decorum demanded no woman share a bed with a man unless they were married. Even if they had been willing to suspend Decorum, the bed was not large enough for the three of them. It took a lot of blushing stares as the Warlock, the Mage, and the Assistant tried to think up alternatives.
In the end, they would simply skirt around the strict code of the Decorum, and share a bed. They just wouldn't be sharing it at the same time, with Amy and Liane sleeping for the first part of the night, used to existing on four or five hours of sleep a night, with Milor filling in the remainder.
It was a quiet time, time when Milor slept, Amy tried to hide her boredom, and Liane sat quietly in a corner, her eyes closed, working over the runic inscriptions, using her incredible memory to allow her to work without disturbing Milor.
She didn't open her eyes for hours, working patiently on the problem. It wasn't until the door opened and the same two guards entered to deliver their lunch that Liane stirred from her position.
Yari eyed her as he put the tray down. “Yer lookin' a'right,” he told her. “Did'he force ya or didya let 'im have ya?”
Liane's face twitched. “'e's been a perfect gentleman,” she snapped. “Better 'an ye've been.”
It was Yari's turn to twitch. “Nobles,” he scoffed. “Ye're all the same.”
She remained silent, and just remained where she was, glowering at him in a way she hadn't done since she was eight years old. It was oddly liberating to be able to show her displeasure, freed from the constraints of Decorum, and she was determined to make use of her freedom.
“Yer glare's still the same,” Yari said. “Culd pull the bark of a tree, it culd. But yer locked up now. Yer glare won't harm me.”
“If yer friend wouldna kill me, I'd give ya such a whoopin', Yari,” she barked back, halfway coming to her feet. “I c'n still remember the trashin' I gave ya with that birch rod.”
Yari twitched. “Tha' was a long time ago. Ya canna scare me.”
Liane chuckled. “Is tha' why yer shakin' in yer boots?”
He took two angry strides forward, actually pulling back his fist. “Hittin' a woman when yer two on one, yer a real badass, aren't ya?” she asked, raising her fists. Her magic was booming, straining through her veins, and she was quite sure that any physical punch she would throw would probably break his jaw. Or his ribs. Or whatever bone she landed a hit on.
His lips peeled back, before he jerked his head to his partner in crime. “I shoulda kill ya, bitch. And I will, one day.”
“Ye can try,” she declared, coming to her feet as their two guards left. The moment the door closed and locked, Liane started pacing. “I shouldna dun tha',” she snapped at thin air. “Coulda have 'im kill me. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Ye've got a big trap, 'Anne. Yer stupid. Think. Yer in a cell. Not smart, pissin' off the guards.”
“My Lady?” Milor asked.
Liane snapped around, staring at him, her eyes blazing with a ferocious anger that made him blink. “I'm stupid,” she declared. “Kept pissin' 'im off. Tryin' ta goad 'im inta a mistake. Not smart. Coulda made 'im kill me.” She snapped around, and paced the length of the small room, trying to blow off steam and anger, trying to calm her boiling magic.
Milor shared a glance with Amy. The young Assistant stared at her Proctor as if she had never seen the young woman before. Finally, the girl stood up and walked to where Liane was now facing a wall, muttering at either it, or at herself. “Proctor?”
Liane looked over her shoulder at her Assistant. “Perhaps there is something I can do, Proctor?” the girl offered.
Liane jerked her head. “Nah.”
Amy blinked, never having been addressed like a thug Commoner before, and not enjoying the experience. “I do not like being addressed like that, Proctor,” the girl offered quietly.
Liane's right fist balled, each knuckle popping. “Sorry.”
The young Assistant opened her mouth, closed it, and reconsidered. “Perhaps this humble Assistant could use her dwindling magical reserves to conjure a relaxing cup of tea for her upset Proctor?”
Liane drew a deep breath, a breath that was deeper than was commonly accepted as being possible for an average human being. As she let it out, the temperate in the room seemed to go up. “My apologies, Assistant. I have given you an abysmal example of my inner demons. I humbly apologize for the atrocious example I have just set.”
Amy let out her own breath. “I am glad you are back, Proctor.”
“It is good to be back, Assistant,” Liane said, turning to Milor. “I must apologize to you as well, My Lord. I have displayed an appalling lack of Decorum.”
Milor simply nodded. “It was... surprising, yet understandable, My Lady. May I ask what has made you so upset?”
“I foolishly believed that I would be able to entice our guards into making a mistake, allowing both yourself and my Assistant to escape. I did not, however, take into account the fate that would have held for me. It was a foolish mistake to make, yet I had already committed myself to its action before I realized it. I had no choice but to continue. I was lucky that Yari was able to maintain his composure.” She let out another deep breath. “It was a foolish, foolish thing to do.”
“Or perhaps a very brave thing to do, My Lady,” Milor said. “You were willing to sacrifice yourself for your Assistant and for myself, without regards for your own safety.”
Liane just sighed, not convinced by Milor's argument. “We must escape soon, My Lord,” she finally said. “I do not believe I would like to have another run-in with Yari. I always had a short temper, but freed from the drain of the large shield on the capital, my temper has shortened even further.”
�
�Have you made any progress on finding a way around the gauntlets?” Milor asked politely.
She blinked, looked at him, then down at his arms. She had gotten used to his semi-nudity after the first few hours in captivity, and no longer even noticed it. Grabbing his arms, she dragged them closer. “I am an idiot,” she declared. “A stupid, foolish, ignorant, idiot.”
“My Lady?” Milor asked, confused about the outburst, and vaguely uncomfortable with her holding his hands and twisting them to present his gauntlet-enfolded lower arms for her closer inspection.
“Idiot,” she muttered. “Why am I such an idiot? It's right there. Right in front of me.”
“Proctor will explain when she comes up for breath, My Lord. I apologize for the display, but sometimes Proctor finds a possible solution staring right at her, and she will not speak until she has worked the solution to her satisfaction,” Amy said gently, as not to startle Liane.
Milor simply nodded in gratitude to the younger girl, allowing Liane to twist and hold his hands as she stared at the gauntlets. Finally, she nodded.
“How does one remove these, My Lord?” she asked. She pointed to a specific runic phrase. “One cannot leave these on permanently. They were designed to hold a Noble during interrogation by the Adjudicators, or during criminal incarceration. They have here a design that allows for their removal, safely and easily, once the sentence has been concluded. All I need to do is trigger this sequence, and the cuffs will release out of their own volition.”
Milor nodded, following her so far. “The sequence is protected by a runic key, to prevent what I am attempting to do. Only one with the runic key will be able to trigger the removal sequence.” A small smile played on her lips. “Whoever created these was brilliant when it came to runes, but failed utterly at security.”
She thought for a few moments, then looked at the fingernail of her right index finger. Carefully, she put it in her mouth, and bit. She then bit from the other side, producing a sharpish point to her nail. Spitting out the pieces of nail she had just bitten off, she picked up the spoon that came with their lunch and stared at it. She frowned. “Not sharp enough,” she muttered, and sighed. “This will hurt.” Pushing her left thumb against one of her eyeteeth, she pressed down hard, winced, and pulled back.
Using the sharp point she had just made on the nail of her right index finger, she picked up some of the blood from her wound on her left thumb, and slowly, methodically, started scratching runes on Milor's cuffs.
She had once told her Assistant that blood made very poor ink, and to her utter dismay, she was right. The blood clotted and spilled when left to even a few seconds of exposure to the outside air.
Because of that, she was forced to poke her fresh wound with her own fingernail in order to draw just a drop of new blood, blood that she used to write the runes she needed onto the cuff that was locking down Milor's magic.
Thankfully, the nature of blood also allowed her to easily correct mistakes, as it only took a few wipes of a moistened sleeve to wipe the cuff and start over.
It took close to an hour to write something that should have taken her no more than a few minutes using ordinary means. Finally, carefully, she could wait for the blood to set. When it had dried sufficiently, she carefully touched it with her right index and middle fingers, closed her eyes, and slowly trickled magic into it.
Activating her Magic Sight, she looked at how the magic trickled through her fingers and into the bloody runes, preventing it from reaching the underlying original writings. She wanted to use her carefully written runes to unlock the cuffs, overriding the need for the runic key, which in turn triggered the removal sequence. “The enchanter forgot to protect the lock itself. They locked everything down, but forgot that the lock itself was easy to override,” Liane said with a grin when the gauntlets released and fell to the ground with a clatter.
Taking a deep breath, Milor seemed to inflate, runes that had been invisible before flashing into visibility all over his skin. For the first time since getting used to his state of undress, Liane stared at her friend's bare upper body. The runes that seemed tattooed onto his skin formed phrases of power, enchantment, and energy. Now that his magic was no longer restrained, they popped back into visibility, and a smile spread on Milor's face.
“That feels good,” he whispered. “Thank you, My Lady.”
Liane turned her head to hide her embarrassed blush. “You are welcome, My Lord,” she whispered.
He stood up, rubbing his wrists and lower arms, where the metal had chafed at his skin for days. Liane was alarmed and disgusted to see the deep redness of his irritated skin, and wished, not for the first time, that she had studied Healing & Potions. Chagrined, she reflected that Cassandra would have known what to do.
But then again, Cassandra never would have gotten into this mess in the first place, and probably would have stormed to the Imperial Blood Mages the moment she had a lock on Milor's location. Cassandra was frightening that way.
Milor stalked to the door, studying its lock and hinges, before nodding. He crouched, building strength, when Liane realized that he was about to make a lot of noise. “My Lord!” she interrupted urgently, breaking his concentration, and causing him to look sharply in her direction.
“Perhaps silence and stealth would aid us more, My Lord,” Liane said, stepping to the door, and copying his earlier movements of checking the door, lock, and hinges. She could not detect any sort of magical protections, and nodded to herself. A single whispered spell dissolved the metal hinges.
The door started to fall inward, and Milor caught it just in time, easily lifting it up and putting it aside. “Good thinking, My Lady,” he said with a whisper as he stalked through the door. Liane motioned to Amy and slipped after her friend.
She arrived in the hallway just in time to see Milor loom over the unknown guard. His arms went around the guard's neck, and within seconds, the man stopped struggling, sagging in Milor's hold.
The man held for close to ten seconds longer, then jerked. A sharp crack became audible, and Milor eased him to the ground in total silence. Liane stared at her friend, not believing what she had just seen; never before had she imagined her friend to be able to simply appear behind a man's back, grab him, and do something to him that would cause him to stop struggling so soon.
Forgetting herself and where they were, Liane whispered, “My Lord?”
Knowing better than to try and hold knowledge from Liane, Milor shot her an annoyed look, and said as succinctly as possible, “Grabbing the main arteries in the neck will cause almost immediate blackout, followed by a sharp movement to break the neck, My Lady. We are trying to escape, please try not to talk.”
Liane blushed again at her mistake, and simply nodded, cheeks burning with embarrassment. Quietly, they slipped to the stairs at the end of the hall, and Liane felt annoyed at the amount of noise both her own and Amy's footsteps made in the quiet of the empty hall, while Milor was completely silent.
He glanced over his shoulder when a floorboard creaked loudly. Both Liane and Amy froze, trying desperately to not even breathe loudly.
He glanced down at their feet and made two sharp motions of his hand. Dipping his head in the quiet, he started his way down the stairs. Liane and Amy followed, their feet totally silent. Liane shared a glance with her Assistant. We need to learn that spell.
They emerged on what they hoped was the ground floor, and Milor glanced around, trying to figure where the front and back doors were. While both Proctor and Assistant crouched on the stairs, they could not see what Milor was looking for, but evidently he noticed something, and resolutely set out.
The two mages quietly trudged after the Warlock, toward a door that had a bright white band of light shining underneath it, a door they hoped would take them outside.
Milor opened the door, bright sunlight streaming in. All three blinked tears from their eyes; eyes that hadn't seen sunlight in quite some time. It took them maybe ten seconds to recover, and M
ilor quickly stepped across the threshold.
The moment he did, he was beset by two burly men bearing swords. Milor's lightning reactions took over, and he dodged, evading one lethal strike completely and turning the second lethal strike into a bloody wound across his arm that drew a sharp yell from his lungs at the sudden pain.
Seeing her chance, Liane's magic, held firmly in check since their capture, lashed out at the guard that had injured her friend, burning a hole straight through his chest before he realized what had happened.
Liane's anger turned ice cold, and bile rose in her throat as she realized she had just burned down a Commoner, a man who had been helpless before her magic. Milor, meanwhile, stepped forward, dodged the second man's sword-strike, grabbed his throat with one hand, and threw him into the side of the house. Both Liane and Amy made their way outside, just in time to see the second man slip to the ground with his head facing the wrong way around.
“We need to run,” Milor said authoritatively, and started running to the bridge that connected the island to the mainland. Despite the bile in her throat, Liane waved Amy to go before her, while she took the last position for herself. If someone chased after them, she preferred it to come after her instead of the younger girl. Taking one last glance, she summoned the two swords; she could enchant them easily and they may come in handy.
They started to cross the bridge without further trouble. When they neared its end, Liane shouted out to Milor, who stopped obediently, and gave her a look saying very clearly that he would indulge her only so far.
“We still do not know what that defense is, My Lord. We could be rendered unconscious the moment we cross it.”
Milor scowled. “What do you suggest, My Lady?”
Liane grinned, and took the two swords she had attached to her back using a few well-placed sticking spells. The string of words that came over her lips were short, to the point, and made Milor blink. Amy grinned faintly, realizing this was a practical demonstration of Liane's very first lesson.
