by Rick Field
The floor released him immediately, and he sprung to his feet. “You have become a truly formidable Mage, My Lady,” he complimented here. “That was some very unusual spell-casting.”
“You rely too heavily on acceleration, My Lord. It can be broken by an opponent of sufficient knowledge,” Liane said, giving him an honest critique of their latest round. He dipped his head, accepting the comment.
“Just like most Warlocks, I do indeed. Unfortunately, it is a very useful spell, so a Warlock's first instinct will always be to cast it to either give himself an advantage – or deny the advantage to an opponent that may be about to cast it himself,” Milor answered her.
“Or herself,” Liane added with a tiny smile.
“Or herself,” Milor acknowledged. It wasn't the first time they had this conversation, and it had become something of a ritual between them. He would pretend that only Warlocks would fight, and she would pretend to correct him.
Both readied themselves for the next round. Liane studied him. The first round, he'd caught her off-guard. The second round, she had practically jumped the signal and simply beaten him as he had just defeated her. This round, both would be weary of such tactics. It would be skill versus power, she knew. It always was.
There were those that said it was dishonorable for a Warlock to fight a Mage. After all, a Warlock was trained in combat.
Just as many statements could be made about Mages fighting Warlocks. Their entire schooling was geared toward combat and power. A Mage was skilled in everything else. The very universe could be brought to bear by a suitably skilled and powerful Mage, and it was very rare to have a Warlock that was prepared and skilled in combat on such a level.
All of this went through Liane’s mind subconsciously. She knew, she understood, but she did not think. She did not need to think. She simply stood. Stood and waited; doing what she should have done in the first round. Her breathing was calm and even, her body was ready, but relaxed. Her magic broiled in her chest, preparing to be unleashed upon her opponent.
He cast. Death Magic. Silent, a simple motion of his hand.
The magic in Liane reacted instantly, almost literally yanking her aside. She didn't need to be yanked, she knew when to listen to her magic, and went willingly. The bolt of Death Magic flashed by harmlessly, and she ignored it totally. A clawed hand reached to the skies, a word was shouted.
The ground twisted up, trying to ensnare his legs. Milor swiped with the wooden sword, now glowing with arcane energies. As he struck to free himself, she cast straight at his chest. He dropped backward, allowing his feet and lower legs to remain upright and caught in the grip of the twisted floor.
She clawed at the air again, the ground starting to twist underneath Milor's body, reaching to ensnare him. Two hissed words came across his lips, a burst of Death Magic erupting from his body, shattering the animating of the floor and washing outward. The tip of her staff came down, canceling his spell before it could reach her. Her free hand came up; a follow-up spell was incanted. The air thickened, slowing his movements and hindering his breath.
He cast the acceleration spell, and charged her – now only slightly faster than normal under the influence of air that was as thick as molasses. She dodged under his clumsy horizontal swipe, struck the head of her staff into his abdomen.
And cast.
Milor was catapulted back, twisting in mid-air and managing to land on his feet. He held up his hands. “That last strike would have been fatal, had you not pulled your strength, My Lady,” he said.
She released her breath, and the air returned to normal, allowing him to finally catch a deep breath. “You would have been dead with the first strike, My Lord.”
He frowned slightly. “Please explain, My Lady.”
“The full power of the spell that merely restrained you goes like this, My Lord,” the Pillar said, raising her hand and barking a spell. Rather than deform and grab, the floor erupted, ceramic blades jutting up into empty air. He swallowed deeply, had he been attacked like that, he would have been pinned to the ground by the vicious weapons striking through his feet, reaching up to his hips.
Then her hand twisted violently, and the blades whirled angrily, a horrible humming noise filling the air. Deathly pale, he realized that he would have been ground up.
“I would like to repeat my often-said statement, My Lady. You truly are the scariest Mage I have ever seen,” he whispered in admiration, staring at the circling blades, all but invisible in their blending speed.
She smiled. “Come, My Lord. Let us enjoy a good drink and each other's company. I believe we've released enough stress for one evening.”
The animation of the floor fell away, leaving nothing but a pristine surface. Milor found himself nodding before he realized he was doing it. “Let us, My Lady. A drink seems well in place after that performance.”
Chapter Three
Liane casually walked into the palace proper after stowing her floater in its customary position. Wearing her usual crystal-blue robes with animated flames, her right hand was holding her staff of office. Next to hear floated a small stack of books, too big to carry normally. Unhurried, she made her way to the Imperial Library while thinking about the unusual evening at the opera she had experienced the day before.
The Lord Emperor had attended, as Milor had predicted. Filled with Decorum and rife with protocol, her second meeting with the man who ruled Kiria passed without problem. It did, indeed, appear as if the Lord Emperor held her in high esteem, and did not mind her company.
Her friend, on the other hand, seemed unusually agitated. Fearing that she had failed to observe some ill-known rule of either Decorum or protocol, she had attempted to find out what she had done wrong, her mind coming up with satisfactory ways of apologizing for the breach. Milor had told her nothing was wrong; she had managed to relax slightly. Had she indeed breached Decorum or Protocol, he would have informed her, she knew him well enough to know that.
Sanca had started, and Liane immersed herself in the music and the performance. The opera group was truly talented, and she found the first act over before she had realized it, the life of Emperor Sanca having reached the point where he passed through the Arbitrator of Ascension. During the intermission, Liane had found herself thinking on the Emperor Sanca's early life, before her thoughts had slipped to her friend's unusual attitude for the evening.
Milor was acting strangely, as if he were nervous about something. It was nothing overt, nothing she could really put a finger on, but the small nervous ticks in her friend had inspired a rising anxiety in herself as well. It was almost as if he were expecting an imminent attack of some kind, and it put her on added alert. What should have been a relaxing evening at the opera had started to turn into an unusual and surreal experience, one she wasn't sure she enjoyed.
Her friend insisted nothing was wrong. The Lord Emperor had seemed amused, despite rigorous adherence to Decorum, and had said nothing when Liane made a polite inquiry.
The second act of Sanca managed to distract her, and she found herself enjoying it as much as she had enjoyed the first act. By the time the second intermission rolled around, Sanca had truly become Lord Emperor of Kiria, his father having passed away. Of course she understood the necessity for embellishment needed for an interesting tale, and didn't take the tale for historic accuracy. If she had, she would have believed Sanca to have been driven mad by the time he ascended to the throne – no one man could survive half a dozen assassination attempts, and hunt down the assassins personally without losing something.
During the second intermission, her Pillar's instincts, the same instincts that warned her of danger and kept her on edge when needed, had drawn her back into reality. Something was bothering her friend, something made him nervous, and it bothered her that she didn't know what it was. When she asked, he assured her once more that nothing was wrong and that she should just enjoy herself.
Once more, the Lord Emperor had refused to disclose any detail
s to his son's strange mood, and it had not exactly reassured Liane. Her friend's avoidance and almost-blatant lie had merely served to urge her on. Something was amiss, Milor wasn't saying, and it bothered her. She found herself scanning the vicinity with eye and magic, time and again. Nothing seemed wrong, nobody was making threatening moves; nobody was even glancing at them in a surreptitious manner.
The third and final act of Sanca had failed to draw her in, her nerves frayed by the strange atmosphere in the Imperial box. The music and performers were still excellent, the tale of Sanca's exploits as Emperor were alternately amusing and thrilling, and she probably would have been engrossed before long, had she not been rankled by her friend's secretive nature.
After an opera she would have enjoyed more had Milor simply told her why he was not his usual self, he had insisted upon escorting her home. In itself this wasn't unusual, he would often accompany her after a meal, but this time something else was going on. Something she couldn't put her finger on, something elusive. Her friend's actions were out of character for him, something was eating at his iron-hard composure, and it unnerved her that she didn't know what it was, urged on by his insistence that nothing was amiss.
The reason she was still thinking about this was his question when they had arrived at her townhouse. His almost-nervous question of whether she had enjoyed her evening. Almost, for just a fraction of a moment, she had entertained the idea of telling him that his nervous behavior had bothered her to the extreme.
That would have been her reaction had they still been in school; that would have been Liane, the Academy Student.
The more mature Liane had decided on being diplomatic and had told him that yes, the opera had been most excellent. In itself, the question had been harmless had it not been for the way he had asked it, but the one that came after had been the one that caused her to go over the entire evening while she was walking to the Imperial Library this morning, the question that had caused warning bells to go off in her mind.
He had asked her whether she would like to accompany him again, his voice barely able to restrain his nervousness. She could see his hands clench and unclench, could see his increased respiration. She didn't understand his apprehension, didn't understand what he was afraid of.
Her confusion must have been apparent, as his body language shifted and he started to say something. She knew her friend, had grown up with him, and imagined that this was what it would be like to have a brother. He was about to make some comment on how she should not feel obligated or pressured.
She had assured him that he was her friend; that she always enjoyed spending time with him, and that she would like nothing better than to accompany him again. For a moment, he had grown rigid as if she had given an answer he hadn't liked. It confused her even more. Did he not want her to spend more time with him? Had he hoped to drive her away with his acts of nervousness? Had she misread the situation somehow?
His rigid posture relaxed, and her friend seemed to deflate before her eyes. He had smiled an obviously fake smile, thanked her for her company, and made some fake excuse to leave.
Liane had watched him go until he was lost from her sight. The whole evening had been surreal and unexpected, and it flowed through Liane's mind until this morning. She blinked, brought herself back to reality, and found herself staring at his bust, sitting on a pedestal at the entrance of the Library. It was a pretty decent representation of her friend, managing to capture his iron composure and regal lines.
The Pillar sighed and entered the Library to return the books she had loaned. Her friend had confused her, and Liane did not like being confused. She was one who wanted to know things, to understand them. She disliked not knowing something with a passion; unfortunately, it seemed that this was a mystery she wasn't about to solve with replaying the events over and over in her formidable mind.
Her friend's actions would remain unexplained until he chose to enlighten her, and she knew from experience that Milor was extremely good at keeping his secrets until he chose to reveal them. It was as annoying to her as it was necessary to him, and she had learned to live with it.
After returning her books, she walked to the wing housing the Pillar Service, hoping to put the strange events of the past evening out of her mind. Hopefully there would be an assignment available to distract her.
She wasn't in her office for very long before the Overseer called for her. A little apprehensive, Liane went.
“Welcome back, Pillar. I have an easy assignment for you to ease you back into rotation,” the austere woman said as a way of greeting, motioning for Liane to have a seat. Liane sat down in the indicated chair, and readied herself for her briefing.
“Ward anchor number 38 is showing anomalies, please go and check it out,” the Overseer said, passing over a metal folder, closed and glowing with seals to Liane's magical sight. She accepted it, whispered her personal code, and opened it up after it unsealed. Her name automagically appeared on the read-and-accessed list that hung on the left flap of the metal folder.
On the right, various forms were attached together, indicting the anomalous readings. Liane glanced through them. It seemed Great Barrier anchor number thirty-eight would need some basic maintenance. Strictly speaking, it was beneath her, something good for an entry-level Pillar to be sent on as either a first solo assignment, or as part of a team with a senior Pillar as part of their initiation.
Liane didn't mind that, she loved runes, and barrier maintenance would be good to get her out of the city for a few days and give her a chance to clear her head and work through Milor's odd behavior.
The Pillar nodded to her superior. “Good,” the Overseer said before Liane could give verbal consent. “The Barrier is intact, the assignment's priority is low, and its urgency is negligible. Your assigned code-name will be Nadia of the Black Marsh. Report back when you've completed the maintenance, take your time and do it right. I know it is beneath someone of your level of expertise, but your abilities with runes and glyphs are second to none within the Service and I'd rather keep the Barrier in top shape.”
“I do not mind working on the Barrier, My Lady,” Liane said. “It is relaxing work.”
“Good. You may go, Pillar.”
Liane dipped her head, bade her superior a good day, and walked back to her office, carrying the closed metal folder. The last comments by her Overseer had been odd; the woman wasn't in the habit of explaining herself or defending her decisions regarding who received which assignments. The fact that she had done so now was telling – either something had happened on a level that was above Liane's need to know, or something was expected to happen on a level that was above her need to know.
More politics, no doubt. Maybe that was why Milor had acted oddly yesterday. As Crown Prince, he was in on the 'need to know', probably had been briefed on what had happened – or was expected to happen – and was having considerable difficulty concealing it from her. She wondered what it would be, or why it would involve the Great Barrier. Was an invasion expected?
She stopped her preparations, and frowned at the Pillar's Robes that hung from their stand. Or perhaps it didn't involve the Great Barrier at all, and it was merely an excuse to get her out of the city. It would probably be the only thing Milor would have difficulty concealing from her. If she were involved in whatever it was that was going on, he would be nervous and anxious about it. She knew him well enough to know that he cared for her dearly, just as she cared a great deal for him.
Oddity was being piled upon strangeness, and Liane didn't like not knowing where this was going. Like a rat being forced through a maze, she had no idea what was going on, or who was manipulating events, but she did not like it.
Unfortunately, it appeared that things were being done on a level that was beyond her, and she knew even Milor could not help her. She grew up with him, she knew he would place his sense of duty and honor above her and would decline to share any information. He'd done it for years. That it had come back to bite
both of them, resulting in his kidnapping, and her ill-fated rescue, was of no import. He'd done it before; he'd do it again. It was who he was, magic itself had declared him fit to rule.
She changed robes, feeling the Pillar's vestments hide her identity completely. Nadia of the Black Marsh left the office of Liane, the MagicWarper. It was time to go to work.
********
Nadia descended from the dunes to the beach that had been designated in her assignment folder. Her staff's end pitted the ancient, black volcanic sands, her long robes fluttering over the loose grains, leaving strange marks. Approaching the water's edge, she came to a stop. It had taken her over a week of travel to get this far, almost to the other side of the island from the capital. She could have driven the distance in a few hours in her own special floating carriage.
Unfortunately, her floating carriage was unique on the island, and it would have revealed her identity to the world. The identity of a Pillar on assignment should remain hidden, and so she had used conventional means of travel, means that had limited her to thirty or forty kilometers of range per day by horse and carriage.