The Magic, Warped (The MagicWarper Trilogy Book 1)

by Rick Field

  “Perhaps she is smart enough to realize that a Mage has very little chance of defeating a Warlock in direct combat,” Naidis Aircrafter said, in his usual soft-spoken voice. His soft voice hid a formidable intellect, an intellect that Liane knew was there but one that Naidis refused to use to its full potential.

  “Or perhaps she is simply afraid,” Xepr Woodmaster said. Apart from the two Magi, he was the only eighth-year student on the Council. “I vote with my Lord Magus. Let's dismiss the issue.”

  “The Lady Lillian Woodworker may not possess the magical strength to gain her right through combat,” Naria Waterworker said, about as agitated as was allowed under Decorum. Being of less than average magical strength herself, she could sympathize immensely with the plight of those less gifted. “I believe it is our duty to support those willing to go through official channels instead of simply using brute force; Especially as such brute force usually ends on a fatality.”

  “Fatalities are to be expected,” Fylian said. “I vote to dismiss.”

  “I vote to give the Lady Lillian her due,” Dars said, earning himself the ire of a few Warlocks. “Having the responsibility and presence of mind to go to the Council instead of calling a duel should be rewarded. Whatever her reasons are, she chose the path of peace rather than violence.”

  Gonaro sighed. “She will never become a strong Noble this way, hiding behind the strength of Council or politics. However, I see the point made by the Lord Dars Earthcrafter. We have been striving to diminish the number of duels, and the deaths they cause. I change my vote.”

  Liane smiled faintly, the meeting would soon be over and she would be free to return to her duties. When she saw Zaia and Zelila look at each other, she held her breath.

  She rubbed her forehead in agitation when the two sisters started arguing with each other, and she smiled faintly when she saw various members of the council make equally annoyed expressions.

  When the debate finally had been concluded, and the young Mage been awarded her just dues, Liane stood up as quickly as Decorum allowed. “Come, Assistant. We have more work to do,” she told Amy, and made to leave.

  “It is good to see you are still working as hard as ever, My Lady,” Fylian remarked, having overheard her statement to her young Assistant. “You still seem to be having trouble casting spells otherwise.”

  A twitch spread through her face, and Liane turned to the Warlock. “I recall having thrown your death strike once, My Lord,” she retorted. “That counts for something,” she added, implying that she was more powerful than he was.

  “I believe it counts for the luck factor, My Lady,” he said, face darkening slightly at the implication.

  “I do believe I would be able to do the same thing again, My Lord,” Liane told him, turning her entire body to face him, and linking her arms behind her back, showing no fear of him at all. Outwardly, she appeared calm and collected. Inwardly, her magic was on high alert, and she could feel it edging towards fire.

  Dangerous fire, the element that would make her insist on wrath and retribution, the fire of power and anger, the element of leadership that would insist she defend her honor with all the magic at her disposal.

  A tiny smirk creased his lips. “I still believe that you should not be afforded the titles and honors you hold, My Lady. Those stations should be reserved for those able to cast magic, not given to those who are having trouble doing so.”

  Deep inside, she knew it was his frustration at the meeting having run long, and he needed to blow off steam. Her magic and her emotions had different ideas, and she could feel the anger bubbling up in her throat, her magic edging closer toward fire, despite her best efforts to keep it contained within the element of earth. “And yet I was afforded them,” she told him, heat seeping into her voice. “It was I who was made Vice-Magus, it was I who have been afforded Prime Student for the second time, and it was I who was both an Assistant and a Proctor. Apart from being on the Council, please let me know what you have accomplished outside of the ordinary?”

  For a moment, she thought he would strike her right there and then, his entire muscular body certainly tensed in preparation for it. Dimly, she was aware of the other Nobles present in the room doing the same. Striking each other without a formal declaration of a duel was the height of impropriety, and was not tolerated.

  “I retain my comments I made years back in regards to your Proctor. One who chooses a damaged Mage as an Assistant cannot be a powerful Mage in her own right.”

  Liane blinked, startled by the ferocity with which her magic shifted to fire, and the furious speed with which its changes swept through her body. “You are still a cad, My Lord,” she snapped, and turned, ready to leave. “I have nothing further to say to you.”

  “I demand an apology for that insult,” he snapped, almost too short to be proper, and stepped closer to her, barring her exit.

  The magic in her chest demanded that she strike him down, right here, right now. With balled fists, she glared up at him. “I refuse to apologize for a legitimate comment,” she told him, subconsciously mimicking the words she had uttered years ago.

  His entire body was trembling. “Please arrive at the main dueling chamber in one hour, My Lady,” Fylian told her, his voice tightly controlled where his body was clearly betraying his rage. “Choose your second, and arrive on time or be forever known as a coward.” Out of thin air, he created a white glove, and made to slap her face. Much to his, and everybody else's, surprise, Ouroboros instantly uncoiled itself, and took the hit for its mistress. Liane allowed a satisfied smirk to spread on her lips.

  “I demand your blood or your surrender,” Fylian snarled out, snapping around and legging out the door with no regards to either propriety or impropriety.

  “My Lady Proctor?” Amy asked, with a small voice.

  Liane turned her gaze to her Assistant. “We must locate the Lord Milor Lightningmaster. I require a second,” she said, and walked out the door with more calm than she felt. She had been challenged. Again. She was well aware how close she had come to death the last time, and if there was one thing she had learnt from her years of mock combat with Milor, it was that she really had very little chance against a Warlock who was taking her seriously.

  She had a very good chance of dying today, unless she found a way around that, a way to cancel out the incredible advantages that a fully trained Warlock held over a Mage in direct combat.

  *****

  Exactly an hour later, Liane entered the dueling chamber, Milor as her second following closely behind. Amy, her faithful Assistant, hovered nearby, ready to take her place in the audience the moment she had to. As the Lord Master of the Kirian Academy entered the room, the faint voices quieted immediately.

  She held out one arm, touching Amy's shoulder, and Ouroboros detached itself. It gave Liane a nasty look. “Do not look at me like that. This is one battle where you cannot assist,” she told her Construct. It continued to look at her. “Now go,” she told it, her voice now holding a sharp edge. The magical glass snake seemed to hesitate, before coiling around her arm, sliding down the appendage until it coiled angrily around her Assistant's neck and settled itself. Calmly, she exchanged a look at the younger girl.

  Amy shot Liane one last look, then took her place among the spectators. Liane and Milor took their positions, Fylian and his second facing them. She was startled to see that Fylian had Gonaro Woodmaster, the Warlock Magus, as his second. Having resolved to herself how she would play this, her nerves were steady and her core was earth. Stable.

  “As Lord Headmaster of this Academy, it is my duty to officiate this duel,” The Lord Master said, calmly, looking each of them in the eye. Like it had during her previous duels, Liane's magic shuddered as he locked his eyes upon hers. “I must ask one final time whether this can be resolved through peaceful means. My Lord Fylian Earthmaster?”

  “I will only be satisfied by blood, My Lord,” Fylian spoke, not even bothering to add the apology clause to his state
ment. He wished for her blood or her life, and not even an apology would abate him now. Liane locked her eyes on his. This went beyond a bad meeting, or beyond even the continuous harassment she had suffered at his harsh words.

  At once, she realized that her existence was a dishonor upon him; her very life was insulting him every time they met. She had spurned his death strike years ago, and he had continuously felt the dishonor of that failed strike every time he had seen her. Now he wanted either her life or her surrender in exchange.

  “My Lady Liane, the MagicWarper?” the Lord Master asked her.

  “As my opponent will not accept apology nor reason, I will not take the coward's way out, My Lord,” she answered levelly. The realization that he hated her very life and existence left her burning with an anger so cold that it shifted her core from earth into ice. Her emotions fell away, burnt by the intense cold of her ice-like core.

  For the first time in a long time, Liane felt absolutely nothing. There was no fear, no hesitation, nor uncertainty. She simply was, existing with body and magic and thought. Had she felt anything, she would have smiled and wished for more. As it was now, she felt nothing and simply noted the curious state she had felt herself in.

  The Lord Master seemed unaware of her inner change, yet there seemed to be a strange glint to his eyes as he beheld her. “Very well. As the challenged, you are allowed to choose the method of combat, My Lady.”

  She dipped her head. “I choose Sudden Death, My Lord,” she told him, and broke her gaze with him and focused on her opponent. A startled muttering went through the assembled crowd, questioning her judgment in taking on a Warlock in Sudden Death. It would allow both of them to charge a single strike, to be released only upon the word of the Lord Master.

  The strongest spell would win.

  Fylian's grin betrayed his confidence, while Gonaro just stared at her, then whispered something in Fylian's ear. It had to be a warning of some sort, and Fylian waved the comment away.

  The Lord Master kept his focus on her for a few long seconds. “My lady chooses Sudden Death,” he said, looking at Fylian. The Warlock nodded, his grin widening. If he thought her weaker than him, he would be in for a surprise. Drawing a breath, she shoved her core from ice to air. Startled, it reacted as she wanted it to, and felt her emotions rush back.

  Air was both flighty and confident, and it filled her with supreme confidence at what she was doing.

  The Lord Master turned back to Liane, and for a moment it seemed as if he was going to speak to her, before his professionalism took over and he stepped back into his designated spot. The two seconds took their places among the crowd. More students than normal had gathered to witness the duel; it was not often that two high ranking members of the Academy dueled.

  To have the duel be Sudden Death was even more unusual. Even though both Milor and Amy knew what Liane had in mind, both were worried that Liane would falter in her casting of the spell under actual combat conditions. Although she had finally gained some form of control over the spell in question, it was still a matter of opinion whether Liane had actually mastered the spell.

  “Begin,” the Lord Master said.

  Startled, Liane watched Fylian draw a wand from his robes, and point it at the ceiling. “Mjölnir, hammer of Thor!” he intoned. At once, Liane realized that her opponent was performing a minor ritual, and drawing upon the forces of nature, forces that would be enough to obliterate her!

  Actual clouds formed inside the room, and Liane forced herself to look away. This was it, the culmination of training with the silver fountain that reflected her magic back at her, the culmination of working ceaselessly with spells and incantations, the culmination of years of education at the Academy, augmented by her own studies and studies performed by her Proctor, Cassandra of the Storms, and her first ever teacher, Mariam of the Volcanoes.

  Spreading her feet, she cupped her hands. The spell started rolling over her lips, and a tiny pinprick of light formed. Winds picked up in the room, winds that revolved around Liane like a miniature tornado, winds that tugged at her clothes and ruffled her hazelnut colored hair.

  Fylian's incantation continued. “Mjölnir! Inceptor of lightning and instigator of thunder! I call to thee!” The clouds darkened, ominous flashes of lightning jumping in the dark canopy obscuring the ceiling.

  Liane crouched slightly due to the magic she was forcing from her core, the words chopping of midway, overlapping, rolling from her lips at a pace that made them all but inaudible. The pinprick of light grew, the winds rising higher and higher as they wrapped around her hands, forming around the light of magic that was forming.

  “Mjölnir, I hurl thee,” Fylian intoned, pointing his wand at her. For a fraction of a moment, Liane was afraid that he would actually fire his spell at her before she had finished.

  He didn't, remaining in perfect control of his spell. Her magic sight was going haywire with the energies expended into the dueling chamber, alerting her to the bolt of ugly red and black magic that was holding still on the tip of Fylian's wand.

  She screamed the last incantations of her own spell, the ball of light now a visible uneven color, rotating at immense speeds, while being buffeted by a ball of barely visible winds, rotating in an opposing direction yet at equal speed.

  It was this part that had eluded her, the ability to tune her magic enough to precisely offset the magic of the inner sphere and the winds of the outer sphere to create a perfectly balanced weapon of war.

  Air as a Weapon of War, indeed.

  She could feel it destabilizing, and she shoved it in the opposite direction. Her air core was perfectly aligned with the element of the spell, and it was through this alignment that she knew how to balance the spell perfectly. Nothing she had ever done was as important as this moment was. Not her domination of the spell in private study, but her mastery of this spell under actual combat conditions.

  Her spell finished and settled in her hands as a stabilized entity, and Liane looked up from it at her opponent.

  “Are you both ready, My Lord, My Lady?” She heard the Lord Master ask.

  Just like Fylian, she gave a short nod of acceptance. Speaking could destabilize their spells now.

  Throwing her arms forward, she launched her weapon of war at Fylian, whose bolt of actual lightning crashed from the clouds onto his wand, before changing direction and flashing toward Liane, shattering the implement in the process.

  Time slowed to a crawl as the two spells went toward each other, hitting somewhere roughly in the middle between the two clashing opponents. The flash of lightning struck Liane's ball of rotating energy, disappearing completely yet stopping the spell in its tracks and destabilizing it completely.

  Liane threw herself backward, crossing her arms over her chest and throwing up the strongest shield she could muster, right before the second stage of her spell kicked in. The outer layer of air would grind and cut, but it was the inner layer, the ball of magic, that did the damage.

  The blast wave washed over her bunker shield, and Liane crouched in on herself as the annihilating magical energy ripped into the school around her. She prayed the visitor shields were powerful enough to contain the blast.

  When the explosion finally settled, Liane cautiously opened her eyes, looking toward her opponent and the audience. Fortunately, the audience was safe; the Lord Master apparently had thrown up a few additional layers of protection.

  Unfortunately, her opponent was also fine. Liane's shield petered out, and she felt her core fuse itself. Her magic was drained completely. She stood up on shaky legs, and Fylian angled himself toward her. It seemed he had enough power left for one more spell, and he used it on the acceleration spell.

  The next moment, he was behind her, his sword at her throat. “Surrender,” he whispered in her ear. “Surrender and share my bed tonight, and I will let you live.”

  The sword at her throat threw her back to an earlier age, an age where an eight-year-old Liane was being held by a murde
rer. She hardly heard his whispered words, all she knew was the sword being held at her neck, and the complete and utter panic that overcame her senses.

  Her body froze in sheer terror, and when his sword shifted, she just knew that her end had come. Her vision started to dim as her heartbeat raced. Her magic, sealed and fused, burnt through her mind, rampaging like fire. It was out of power, sealed and fused, yet still it reached out in protection. Without power, its only assistance could be knowledge, and it brought a memory, a thought, to her mind.

  A thought that she grasped like the lifeline it was, a lifeline that was rapidly pulling her from the depths of her panic. Her eyes flashed to the Lord Master.

  He realized what she was going to do, and a grim look took over his face.

  Closing her eyes, Liane fell to the meditative state taught to her during Deep Secrets classes, and thought to the depths of her mind. Liane, the MagicWarper, is of the Fire, the Volcano, and the Meteor, and calls out to Ercharthaetuli, Major Spirit of Fire. Lord Ercharthaetuli, are you there!?

  Time shattered and reality vanished, and Liane found herself frozen in the deepest and darkest blackness she had ever encountered. Her eyes were open, yet no light fell upon them. She did not feel ground underneath her feet, yet did not feel as if she were falling. For a moment, panic was about to grip her, but a deep breath dispelled the notion.

  She must be in stasis, now, Liane realized. Time had been suspended while she negotiated with one of the major spirits. Now she needed to pay tribute, soon. My Lord Ercharthaetuli, I pay two pints of blood in tribute for your summoning!

  She gasped when a curious sensation swept through her. Light-headedness made her stumble in this curious place of total darkness, and she realized her blood-pressure had just dropped considerably when two pints of blood vanished straight from her veins.

  The next moment, her vision was filled by a scene of light and heat, Ercharthaetuli filling her vision from top to bottom, dwarfing everything she had ever seen with sheer size and volume. The huge elemental spirit bowed its head so it could look at her. Without other shape or size for comparison, Liane was unable to determine whether he was merely huge and close by, or astronomical and incredibly far away.