The Magic, Warped (The MagicWarper Trilogy Book 1)

by Rick Field

  Milor hastily fastened his Warlock robes, and sheathed Dawnbreaker in a sheath that had not been there before. He nodded, crept to the door and pushed his back against the wall to take a glance beyond the borders. He nodded again to Liane, and they started making their way outside.

  “I wouldna do that,” a voice said from behind them. Liane cursed, and started to turn around. “That neither,” the voice continued.

  Looking over her shoulder, Liane saw Yari, a crossbow aimed at her back. “Please keep vigil, My Lord,” she told Milor, before focusing on her old friend. “Yari. Ya told that Warlock ta leave me. Thanks for that. He didna listen, wanted me even more after that.”

  Yari scowled from behind his crossbow. “I canna let ya leave, 'Anne.”

  “An' I canna let ya shoot me. I'll make ya a deal. Ya leave now, and I'm gonna let ya walk.”

  Yari snorted. “Like they's gonna let me walk,” he snapped, jerking his chin to Amy and Milor, still looking in the direction of the front door. “Them Nobles just wanna shoot us all, 'Anne. Ya know that.”

  “I'm a Noble too, Yari. I dun wanna shoot ya. Well, I do, but I'm not gonna. Ya tried ta help. My turn. Walk, and we'll let ya.” Her voice was even and calm, despite the fact that she was speaking like a lowly Commoner.

  “Fine,” Yari said, putting the crossbow down. “I'll trust ya. Ya shoot me, and I'll haunt ya.” He turned, and started walking to the back from where he came. “I'm gonna hide in the cellar. If they catch ya, I wus drunk and asleep. If ya kill them all, I'm gonna walk out in half an hour.”

  “Yari,” Liane said, causing him to stop and look inquisitively at her.

  “Yeah?”

  “If ya ever see me again, be very nice. Ya talk ta me like ya been doin', and I'll kill ya,” she promised.

  He barked a laugh. “Not if I kill ya first, 'Anne,” he said with a grin, and walked to the open door underneath the staircase, the door he had come from and caught them by surprise.

  “Ready, My Lady?” Milor asked.

  “Ready, My Lord,” Liane answered, not knowing how to feel about her old friend. He had been antagonistic and insulting, but in the end he had tried to protect her against a Warlock, and was going to let them walk away.

  Light was diminishing fast as the sun set outside, and Milor cautiously made his way to the door. Readying a spell, he kicked the door open, preparing to fire at the first moving target he saw.

  Instead, the spell petered out. Curious, Amy and Liane tried to catch a glimpse beyond the Warlock's broad back, yet were unable to. Finally, Milor's voice answered their questions. “Uncle.”

  “The sun has set, Nephew. The night is my domain.” The cool voice that answered Milor drifted to Amy and Liane and sent shivers down their backs. “Surrender.”

  Milor tensed considerably, and the two Mages immediately pressed themselves against the walls, away from the center line of the hallway. The Warlock felt them move, and threw himself aside just in time for a bolt of magic to flash overhead and strike the opposing wall, reducing it to splinters.

  The boards of the floor reached up, trapping Milor's feet and legs into his crouched position, while the boards of the wall started to reach for his arms and neck. After a startled moment or two, Liane's hand reached up, and a spell snapped out, breaking the Warlock's hold over the wood trapping her friend.

  He ripped himself free of the boards, now weak without the force of magic behind them. “Thank you, My Lady,” he said gratefully, just before the exterior wall fell apart into kindling. The moment they were exposed to the outside air, a second spell reached in, exploding against a barrier that had not been there microseconds earlier.

  The Warlock that had attempted to roast them cursed as he readied a second spell, while the Woodmaster Warlock attempted to ensnare Liane with the boards upon which she stood. Canceling that spell was no more difficult than it had been canceling the one holding down Milor earlier.

  Her friend recovered his wits, and charged, drawing the second strike of the offending Warlock, and dispelling it against Dawnbreaker. Liane grinned; the sword she had created was serving its master well.

  Taking her eyes off the battle, Liane inspected her Assistant, and noticed the girl on her knees, panting deeply. “That was an impressive barrier spell, Assistant.”

  The girl gave a weak grin. “I learned... from the best... Proctor,” she panted. Liane returned the smile, and crouched down in front of the younger girl, focusing back to the battle.

  Milor was engaged in battle with the two Warlocks, and she was glad she had incorporated such strong dispelling abilities into the blade. It was obviously draining on Milor to employ that ability, but as long as he had magic available to him, no foreign magic would be able to harm him.

  Taking a page from the Warlock's own book, she ensnared the Woodmaster by growing out the grass upon which he stood, and used the plants to entangle his limbs. The man went down to the ground, and was out moments later when Dawnbreaker severed the man's head from his shoulders.

  This left Milor's back exposed, and the second Warlock would have taken advantage, if only Liane hadn't thrown the fastest curse she could muster, a curse of Bad Luck, barely requiring a point-and-shoot motion.

  The man tripped over his bootlaces when trying to cast a lethal spell, causing him to fall and his spell to fail. Spectacularly. In his face.

  The Warlock screamed while he clawed at his eyes and ruined face when Milor turned around and saw what had happened. He threw a startled, if somewhat grateful, look in Liane's direction, before looking down at the man, writhing in pain on the ground. Lifting his hand, he gave him a merciful end with a lightning bolt. Turning to face his Uncle, Milor raised Dawnbreaker into a salute.

  Feeling Amy moving, Liane reached for the girl, and motioned for her to remain where she was. Milor had explained the discrepancy between fact and fiction regarding the undead, but she would not take any chances with the monster. She would let Milor deal with the man, and interfere only when she had a clear shot. It had worked on the Warlocks, after all.

  “Well done, Nephew,” the man said, not at all bothered by the fact that he had just lost a bunch of Warlocks. “Very well done, indeed. It really is too bad that this entire exercise is pointless.”

  “What do you mean, Uncle?” Milor asked, maintaining his focus on the vampire despite his confusion.

  “You mean you don't know? Our plan worked better than I anticipated,” the old man said, grinning widely. “My dear nephew, you have been my prisoner longer than you anticipated or expected. It is too late. You only have a few more hours.”

  Milor blinked. “No,” he said, sounding halfway between disbelief and impotent rage. “No, you're lying, Uncle.”

  The old man waved. “Cast a spell, Nephew. Confirm what I have said.”

  “And you will attack me while I do so. I am not a fool, Uncle,” Milor replied, charging his vampiric uncle as fast as he could. Just as he had explained, the old man was fast, but not inhumanly so, and the long blade of Dawnbreaker tore through clothing and undead flesh.

  The vampire fell to the ground, screaming in pain with smoke rising from the wound. Milor stared in confusion at the damage he had caused, then looked at his sword. The blade gave off a soft light, and a small smile appeared on Milor's face when he realized something.

  I am the light of dawn, Milor stepped up to his uncle, and reversed the sword so its tip was pointing down at the old vampire's head. Breaking over the shores of Hell. The tip came down, striking through the head of his uncle. The glow of the blade intensified, and Milor felt an involuntary smile came to his lips when the intense light fell softly on his skin. The soft reddish-golden light reminded him of the sunrise.

  The vampire let out a gurgling scream, before expiring. It did not turn to dust, which rather disappointed Liane, but it did finally show the age of its decomposition, and looked now like a body that had been dead for all the years that it had been animated. It may not have been a skeleton, but i
t did look decidedly old, decomposed, and eaten by worms and insects.

  “That, My Lord, is disgusting,” Liane said, staring down at the awful mess.

  Milor did not seem to hear her as he stared down at the desiccated body. Withdrawing Dawnbreaker, he spared a glace for the blade. As Liane had said, nothing adhered to the weapon when he brought it up in a perfect salute. “Our dishonor has been wiped clean. What my family could not do before, I have done now,” he muttered.

  He sighed deeply, and sheathed the weapon. “I thank you from the bottom of my heart, My Lady. It was your weapon that allowed me to prevail against my uncle, and it was your assistance that allowed me to be victorious against the other Warlocks.”

  She dipped her head in acknowledgment. Smiling faintly, he cast a date-time spell, and drew pale.

  “My Lord?” she asked, looking at the readout and realizing that it was nine PM, on December the 24th. She was about to miss the Christmas Eve celebrations. She loved Christmas celebrations, but things were as they were.

  “Uncle was right,” Milor whispered. “I only have a few hours to return.”

  Liane felt bad for her friend, but had no time to dwell on it. Water's wisdom was leaving her, now that her friend and Assistant were safe. Already, she could feel the crystalline clarity of her memories recede, and the incredible speed of her mind slow down. She was returning to merely human, and felt tears of frustration annoy her eyes. The voice of water sounded only to her inner ears, proclaiming their deal completed and withdrawing the three weeks of life force Liane had agreed upon.

  A part of her wanted to call Lady Haturori back, strike a deal to allow her permanent access to the boost. It may cost as much as half her lifespan, but what half of a life she would be able to lead!

  She shook her head, frustrations, dependencies, and addictions did not matter at this point. She thought about what her friend had been saying. “Christmas Eve,” she whispered, finally realizing what he had been saying.

  “Yes, My Lady. I must return to the capital within the next few hours, or I will lose everything.” He swallowed. “All is lost,” he whispered. “We were too late.” He looked at her with hopeful eyes. “Unless you know of a way to return to the capital in such a time frame, My Lady?”

  She had already felt frustrated at the loss of the enhancements of the water spirit. The request he made of her bubbled over into anger, and she turned to face him. “This you ask of me now?” she demanded. “After a pint of blood and three weeks of my lifespan paid to free us? Without decent explanation or word of answer, you ask this of me? Have I not done enough? After the risk we took to find you, after the threats made against my Assistant, after the horrific sacrifice I was almost forced to make, you would still ask more of me!?”

  Milor blinked, and stepped back when Liane continued to advance on him. “My Lady? You know of a way?” he asked, hoping to snap her out of her rage.

  Instead, it enraged her further. “Yes, I know of a way!” she shouted. “The Major Spirit of Air could transport us. It will only require two pints of blood and a few months of my lifetime. Of course, with the pint I have already paid, that would probably kill me before I could invoke the magic. Is that what you want, My Lord? My death? What could possibly be worth my life?”

  Milor swallowed, understanding at once what she had been saying, and sighed deeply. He bowed his head. “You are right, My Lady. Absolutely correct. I cannot and will not ask this of you. You have already given more than could be asked or expected, and I cannot ask more of you.” He looked up, hopeful. “Can I make payment in your stead?”

  Liane's face twitched, and for a moment he was afraid that she was going to shout at him once more. Instead, she drew a deep breath. “No, that is not possible. Is it this important to you, My Lord?” she asked him. She recognized that this was about more than just an inheritance, no mere inheritance would be protected with the kind of secrecy vows and protective oaths that Milor had on him.

  “I cannot explain more than say that it is absolutely vital I return, My Lady,” Milor answered. “I cannot reveal that which I cannot reveal. However, should I return in time tonight, then I would not be inclined of stopping you from accompanying me, which would reveal to you all the answers that you seek.”

  “Tell me, My Lord. Is it worth my life?” she demanded of him, staring up into his eyes. “Three pints of blood from my veins is lethal.”

  “Proctor?” Amy asked with a small voice from behind Liane's shoulder. The Proctor looked at the younger girl, yet did not speak. “I have been studying, Proctor. After you summoned a Major Spirit, I have discovered a spell which will allow me to transfer blood from one person to another. It is used in emergency healing, to prevent a person from dying of blood loss. I believe I would be capable of casting this spell.”

  “So you have not practiced it, Assistant?” she asked of the younger girl, not taking her eyes off Milor

  “No, Proctor, I have not had a chance to,” the young Assistant replied nervously.

  Liane was silent, digesting the new information.

  Finally, she nodded. “Very well,” she said, turning back to Milor. “It seems that I may be able to survive after all. My Lord, tell me, is it worth me paying months of my lifespan for this? Absolutely vital? Do you swear on your friendship to me?”

  Milor seemed in conflict. “It is important, My Lady,” he finally said, hesitantly. “I do not want to see you pay with your life, however. You are my friend.”

  She looked at him, and hesitated. Two or three months of her lifespan was a pretty big sacrifice, but it was not that big of a sacrifice. The two pints of blood, she had survived before. It had left her dizzy and weak, but she had survived in the end. She resisted the urge to fidget as she thought.

  Invoking a Major Spirit was always dangerous. Paying the tribute would get their attention, and make them listen to you if for no other reason but courtesy. It was after the plight that the problems could begin, and she had missed quite a few Deep Secrets classes. Who knew what the Lord Master had explained in her absence?

  But then again, Milor was her friend. He had told her it was important, absolutely vital, that he return to the capital in short order. Whatever it was that he was hiding, it was protected by vows of secrecy that seemed every bit as potent as the oaths she had taken before starting her Deep Secrets studies, and her friend had told her that, should she get him to the capital, all her questions would be answered.

  Liane sighed. Dangle an answer to a question in front of her, and she'd do anything for it. And this was her friend that asked her. Even if she was angry with him, she could no more deny him her help than she could deny herself the answers to her questions.

  She gave a sharp nod. “Very well, I will summon the Major Spirit of Air. Assistant, please transfer one pint of blood from Lord Milor to me.”

  Milor released his breath and smiled gratefully. “Thank you, My Lady. Assistant, please tell me what you wish me to do.”

  “Please remain there, My Lord,” Amy said, stepping up to the older duo, and grabbing one hand of each. Closing her eyes, she whispered the spell.

  Liane felt somewhat different when her Assistant released her hand, and took that as a good sign. She'd kept her magic sight up, and had definitely seen something pass between Milor and Amy, and from Amy into her, and she hoped that the young girl hadn't messed anything up.

  “Thank you, Assistant,” Liane said, and closed her eyes. This was going to be difficult, no matter whether Amy had succeeded at the transfer spell or not. Water was calm, and could be depended upon for help. Fire was angry and rage incarnate, and could be counted on for a good fight when needed.

  But air... air was flighty and fickle. It would help or wouldn't help depending on a whim, and it would be up to Liane to try and put it in a good mood, try and cajole it into helping. She drew a breath. This was it.

  She closed her eyes and fell into the meditative trance. It was starting to become routine, and Liane had to start
over when she realized the worry in her heart. This shouldn't become a routine, it was too dangerous, too seductive. She swallowed, drew a deep breath, and squashed the worry. Those were things for later. Right now, she needed to summon a Major Spirit, and bring her friend home before the end of the day.

  “Liane, the MagicWarper, is of the Air, the Storm, and the Hurricane, and calls out to Omkiel, Major Spirit of Air. Lady Omkiel, are you there?”

  Like it had with the Major Spirit of Fire, time shattered around her and reality vanished before her eyes. Rather than end up in darkness as she had with Ercharthaetuli, however, she ended up in a plane of blazing white. Again, there did not appear to be ground beneath her feet, yet she did not feel as if falling.

  It was not a common occurrence, but her previous experiences saved her from the mild panic that had gripped her with her previous major summoning, the mere knowledge of previous events preparing her for what was to happen.

  “My Lady Omkiel, I pay two pints of blood in tribute for your summoning!” she shouted to the blazing white surroundings, hoping that the major spirit would look kindly upon her. She was reasonably sure of being able to pull off the summoning itself, but the actual agreement made her both nervous and excited.

  Contrary to Ercharthaetuli and Haturori, both of which has created vaguely human forms, Omkiel appeared in a blaze of wind all around the Mage. Liane gasped for breath when gales rushed about her, coming from everywhere and nowhere, pushing and straining.

  Where water was patient and ever-lasting, and fire was fury incarnate, air was all about change – everlasting, enduring change of the one element that had always been there, and would always remain. Where water could boil and rock could weather, air would be there until the planet ended.

  “Lady Omkiel! I have come before you with a plight of assistance!” she shouted to the buffeting winds, trying to raise her voice above the howling winds.

  The winds withdrew, causing her hazelnut hair to settle about her, and allowing her to stand easy rather than braced against the pressures exerted upon her. The spirit replied with a thousand voices sounding at the same time, all decidedly 'female', yet, at the same time, decidedly not. “Speak to us, the Winds of the World, Liane of the Magical Currents. We shall listen to your plight and render verdict.”