by Rick Field
She dipped her head gratefully, and made her way out of the council chambers just a little bit faster than was normally accepted under Decorum.
A Noble never ran anywhere. Running was undignified. So Liane's feet raced themselves to propel her as fast as possible without leaving the ground at the same time.
She knew exactly where her Assistant was, and worry clamped down over her heart. What had the girl done? Her magic clamped down, tightening into a little ball of worry.
Power-walking through the hallways, she went up to the top floor of the laboratory building, entering the room identified by the Proctor-Assistant bond.
Inside, she found exactly what she had been dreading: the Lord Master was present, and dueling shields had been erected. A dozen or so spectators were also present, watching Amy duel against a Warlock her own age.
She did not know the Warlock in question, and didn't much care to do so. However, when his strike with Death Magic forced her Assistant to dodge, the unstable magic in Liane's core shifted to fire-alignment. The tight little ball that had been her magic exploded into a raging inferno of anger.
Whether or not she had wanted it to do so was insignificant. The fire in her chest fueled her ragged nerves, and Liane's lips curled back when Amy's follow-strike with a blob of ice was almost casually dismissed.
The other attending students, the Lord Master, even the room started to slowly vanish from her vision, the world dimming to black as only Amy and her opponent remained visible to her.
While the duel continued, Liane's magic raged, threatened to destroy the Warlock right there and then if he even dared to harm Amy – and it was only through an almost supernatural effort that Liane managed to stop it from doing so right that very instant.
When Amy dodged another strike, her eyes met Liane's.
Something in Liane's look must have startled the girl, as her eyes went really wide. Turning back to face her opponent, the little girl jammed her shoulders back, and lifted her head.
The Death Mage strike was cancelled with a wordless spell that was of Liane's own design, a spell she herself needed to vocalize, a spell useless to her in battle.
Apparently, her Assistant had mastered it enough to do it wordlessly. The Warlock blinked, and gawked. Using his distraction, Amy's return strike was a bolt of ice, ice that Liane's magic sight identified as having runes etched on it. Runes that formed a spell description rather than a runic sequence, and as such, didn't require a power token. Runes that could be cast like direct magic could, the very first use of runes that Mariam had once explained to Liane.
A lesson she had imparted on Amy as well. Liane's magic sight showed the tendril of active magic connecting Amy to the runes.
Creating a bolt of ice with the runes already there negated the need for special etching spells, and Liane wondered why she had not thought of that possibility beforehand. It could be very useful.
The Warlock tried to block the ice with fire, but the runes had made the ice bolt highly resistant to magic. Liane would have created a solid wall and used physical force to block the strike.
Amy's opponent was not Liane. As his magical protection failed to shield the bolt, the spell struck him right in the chest.
It was still only a bolt of ice, regardless of the magical resistance, and it served only to knock him on his back. He probably would have a heavily bruised chest. At his pained gasp, Amy's lips formed words. Words that did not correspond to any standard spell, but words that Liane recognized as using the very principles that she had been teaching Amy since the first day they were together.
Words themselves had power, and words that used emotions could manipulate spells into higher power.
The words formed a compression spell, something used to get juice out of fruit. The words rolling over Amy's lips formed one that was capable of far more. The Warlock was regaining his stability just as the spell clipped his head.
The spell that hit him was far, far more than a mere juice-squeezing spell.
The side of his head that was hit shattered on impact. Amy's eyes screwed themselves shut as she looked away, not wanting to see the results of letting her anger control her actions.
Liane's magic released its stranglehold over her emotions, and vision slowly returned when her anger dissipated. She had no trouble looking at the blood and brain matter that had splattered on the ground, next to the corpse of a Warlock wearing a very surprised expression.
He had died so quickly he had never realized what was happening. It was a quick and clean kill.
The duel shields disengaged, and Liane briskly walked to her Assistant, who was staring at the far wall, drawing in deep breaths of air. The anger had left her as soon as the duel ended, and all that was left now was the worry, and the disappointment. The very same disappointment, Liane thought, Cassandra would have felt after her own duel.
“Assistant?” she asked, somehow managing to keep her voice steady despite the magic in her chest, slowly going back to an earth-state, and the emotions pressing down on her mind.
“Proctor,” the little girl whispered. “What have I done, Proctor?” she asked, looking up.
“You have engaged in a duel, did not see fit to notify me, and crushed your opponent. Although I must ask what took you so long, as it seems you defeated him easily after I arrived,” Liane spoke, levelly. If this was how Cassandra had felt after her own duel, it was a miracle she hadn't been more angry.
Liane felt incredibly angry at Amy, but her relief at seeing the girl was alright was starting to overcome the sensation.
The young Assistant gulped. “I... killed him, Proctor.”
Liane placed a hand on her shoulder. “Let's return to our quarters. You need privacy.” The girl just nodded, and Liane turned and guided the girl out the door. Neither had heard the Lord Master announce Amy's victory.
As they walked to their quarters, Liane's thoughts went back to what she had seen of the duel. Her Assistant had created a bolt of ice with runes engraved on it, and she had done an impromptu modification of a basic low-level, low-powered spell to make it deadly in direct combat.
The Proctor glanced at her Assistant. The potential present in the girl was far beyond anything Liane had realized. Part of it scared her, and part of it thrilled her. Just how far could and would she go? The anger started to melt away, leaving only the utter disappointment, and the self-recrimination. She was supposed to teach Amy not to make the same mistakes she had made. She could not be a very good proctor, if her own Assistant made those same mistakes anyway.
They made it to their quarters without any noticeable interruptions. Immediately upon entry, Amy turned to the bathroom, and emptied her stomach. Liane just hung back and provided a comforting presence, letting the girl know that she was there for her, and that she wasn't going anywhere. The last of her anger left her at the sight of her Assistant bent over the toilet, and helplessness took its place when she realized that there was very little she could do to help.
Ten minutes later, Amy was feeling better, if still a bit queasy. Liane called for some plain toast in an effort to calm down her Assistant's upset stomach, and sat with the girl as she nibbled at it.
“Proctor?”
“Assistant?” Liane replied to the question, a bit surprised at the girl using her title, even though they were in private. She still didn't know what to do or say, nor did she really know how to handle the disappointment she felt both in her own failing as a Proctor, and in her Assistant.
“I'm sorry I didn't alert you,” Amy whispered, looking forlornly at her toast. “I should have let you know.”
Liane drew a deep breath, refusing to give in to the anger that still simmered beneath the surface of her mind. “You should have,” she agreed. “May I ask why you did not?”
She remembered her own reasons for not coming to her Proctor, and most of them revolved around a single vice. The vice of pride. She had wanted to show that she, Liane, could do things without her Proctor's guidance or
assistance, and it had nearly gotten her killed. It was something she had hoped Amy would not have repeated.
“I didn't think of it, Proctor,” Amy admitted. “The Lord Metalworker was insulting and abrasive, insulting both myself and my Proctor, and before I knew it, I was engaged in a duel. I think I even asked the first classmate I came across to be my second.”
Liane sighed deeply. “You are taking over your Proctor's weaknesses, Assistant,” she whispered sadly, finally voicing the self-recrimination that had been doggedly in her mind for the last half hour. “It's my shortcoming that I did not teach you better. I attempted to teach you to use emotion to guide your magic, and instead, I have made you more open to emotional disturbances.”
The girl looked at Liane, startled. “Proctor!” she protested loudly. “Proctor, no! You've been a wonderful Proctor, teaching me things that are so far beyond my classmates that it is startling! You're making me strong and fast and brilliant with magic!”
“And yet I have not taught you better control over your emotions,” Liane said. “Just like I cannot control my magic and my emotions, I have been unable to teach you to control yours. I'm sorry, Assistant.”
The girl pushed herself closer, and wrapped her arms around the older girl. “You've been a wonderful Proctor,” she repeated, adamantly. “The best Proctor any Assistant could hope for. Please don't say you've failed, Proctor.”
The girl's tone, bordering on begging, tugged at Liane's heart. She patted the top of her Assistant's head, and attempted a smile, although she was sure that it came out more as a wry grimace. “Try to get some sleep, Assistant. I'm sure that you're exhausted after using that much magic. And I'm sure that you've also started to hurt from your physical exercise.”
Amy nodded, a bit wryly. “Go to sleep, Assistant. I will remain here,” Liane told her, trying desperately to sound both gentle and supportive, yet not knowing whether she succeeded or not. Despite what Amy had said, Liane still felt responsible for what had happened, responsible for not being a better teacher, a better guide, or a better role-model.
The young girl slipped under the covers, before looking at Liane. “Proctor? What about class?”
“I can skip one Elemental Magic lesson, Amy. Don't worry,” Liane replied authoritatively. Her place was here now. She had failed the girl enough. She would be here for when Amy needed her.
“But your records! You never missed a class!” Amy protested, starting to rise from the bed.
They really were two of a kind, Liane thought. Here she was, worried about failing her Assistant – and there her Assistant was, worried that she would fail Liane. Deciding that she could at least do something to make the younger girl worry less, Liane made her decision.
“Bed,” Liane said, calmly, grabbing Amy's shoulder and preventing her from rising. “I will go to class, if it is that important to you. But only if you promise that you will not leave this bed unless for bathroom breaks.” She added a faint smile, “Or if the dormitory catches fire.”
Amy crawled back under the covers. “I promise, Liane.”
“Good,” Liane said, but it was doubtful Amy heard her. The girl's breath had already equalized, and she was obviously asleep. Silently, Liane left the room and closed the door.
She was barely in time for Elemental Magic, and the two hour period was one of the longest classes Liane had ever sat through. She rushed back to her room after it was over.
Amy was tossing and turning in her bed, and as Liane entered, she bolted upright, her face pale and sweaty; her breathing heavy and labored.
“Assistant?”
“Just a nightmare, Proctor,” Amy muttered, as if ashamed by it.
Liane just nodded, not really knowing what to say. She, herself, preferred to be alone after a nightmare. “It was a rather gruesome scene,” the Proctor finally acknowledged, sitting down on her bed. “It's to be expected you have nightmares because of it.”
Amy fell silent, just sitting upright in her bed.
As the silence stretched on, Liane tried to divert Amy's thoughts. “How did you come up with the idea of casting a bolt of ice with runes already on it?”
It was clear her tactic failed, as the little girl seemed to shrink even further in on herself, if that were even possible. “I was just fighting him,” she whispered. “And then you came in. You were so angry. And so concerned. And the Proctor-Assistant bond told me you were angry and concerned.”
The young Assistant swallowed and looked at Liane. “And then... I just thought of it. I thought, 'what would Proctor do?', and it just... came to me. And I destroyed him.” She swallowed deeply. “I killed him.”
The Proctor jumped up and raced after Amy as the younger girl fled to the bathroom, emptying her empty stomach once more. Concerned, she could do nothing but offer her silent support to the young girl in her care.
Not long after, Liane had gotten Amy back in her bed, under the covers. The girl shook her head at the offer of dinner, and while her Assistant dozed, Liane ordered some light dinner for herself.
After making fast work of the food and dishes, Liane threw a quick glance at her timepiece, remembering how she had an appointment with Milor for their next mock battle.
At a quandary, the Prime Student looked at her half-asleep Assistant, wondering what to do. Decorum demanded that she go meet Milor – or at least get a message to him – warning him of canceling today's session. On the other hand, she needed to remain here, with Amy, in case the girl needed something.
“Proctor?” Amy asked, looking up, aware of how Liane was staring at her.
“It is nothing, Assistant. Please go back to sleep,” the Proctor answered. This was her problem, not Amy's. She didn't need to bother the girl with it.
“Don't you have to meet the Lord Milor Lightningcrafter?” Amy insisted, lifting her head out of the bed.
“I will remain here, where my place is,” Liane replied levelly, sitting down on the edge of Amy's bed.
“You need to warn him, Proctor. Decorum demands it,” the younger girl insisted. “Please, go. Your reputation would be tarnished if you didn't.”
Liane wavered in her conviction. “I will be alright, Proctor. Please, go.”
Finally, the older girl stood up. “Twenty minutes. I will be back in twenty minutes,” she told Amy, and left the room as fast as Decorum would allow.
She found Milor already waiting for her. “My apologies for my tardiness, My Lord,” she spoke when she arrived, breathing deeper than normal.
“I have heard of your Assistant, My Lady. I believe I know what has made you late,” he replied calmly, not sounding at all upset.
She let out her breath. At least she had met him on time, before he was angry rather than understanding. “Unfortunately, I must cancel our session for today. My Assistant has not taken well to her victory. This afternoon, I returned from class to find her waking up from a nightmare.”
Milor motioned for the hallway. “May I walk with you? I believe I might be able to advise you as we walk.”
Liane nodded gratefully. “Thank you, My Lord. Your advice will be greatly appreciated.”
As they walked, not as briskly as Liane had walked earlier, but faster than was common, he started to talk. “The first life taken is always the hardest, as I am sure you remember,” he said. Liane dipped her head at that, remembering how she had killed Florindra, almost two years past.
“It is normal to be upset, especially if the death was not a clean one, as yours was, as your Assistant's was. The best advice I could give at this moment is to be available to her, to talk, to be there, to offer advice. She might have the need to talk about it, or she might not. At first, I'd advise not to pressure her; she will talk when she is ready. Just being there for her would provide an emotional stability.”
As they crossed the courtyard from the laboratory building to the dormitories, he drew a breath to continue his explanation. “Also, two things might be of use to you. After a nightmare, it's best to rinse the
mouth with some water that's a bit below room temperature, so it is cool, not cold.”
Liane blinked. “My Lord?” she asked.
“I'm sure you have noticed, My Lady, how fear can leave an unpleasant bitter aftertaste in your mouth. Rinsing one's mouth will clear that taste,” he answered her question.
As she nodded in understanding, he went on, “The second is a glass of warm milk with two spoonfuls of honey in it. The milk helps one sleep, the honey helps one relax. It should help against nightmares.”
“Thank you, My Lord,” Liane answered honestly as they ascended the stairs to her quarters. “Your advice will be of immense help.”
“A person in her position may be unsure of herself, My Lady. She may have unusual requests,” he told her just before they reached the landing to Liane's floor.
She thought that over. “Thank you, My Lord.”
“Good luck, My Lady,” he wished her before leaving her.
Liane entered their dorm rooms, finding Amy sitting at one of the desks, paging listlessly through one of the school texts. A quick look later told Liane that it was a very basic school recommended text, something they had progressed beyond quite some time ago.
“Amy?”
“Liane,” the girl said, trying to smile but failing miserably.
The Proctor sat down next to her young charge, and placed one hand on her shoulder. Again, her magic utterly failed her, and her lack of knowledge on human interaction was felt more acutely than ever before. “I'm sorry I cannot be of more help to you, Amy,” she said. “I wish there were some way for me to help.”
“You are helping, Liane,” Amy answered, again trying to smile. “I think I will just need some time to come to terms with what I did.”
Liane just nodded, not knowing what to say. Finally, she turned back to the book Amy had been paging through. “Perhaps we can do something fun to take our minds off of what happened? There is no market today, but perhaps a walk?”
Amy shrugged, a bit listlessly, but agreed anyway. Going out sounded better than being locked up inside.
They returned a few hours later.