The Magic, Warped (The MagicWarper Trilogy Book 1)

by Rick Field

  Milor simply nodded. “Thank you, My Lady. I am grateful for your help.” He looked as if he wanted to say more, than reconsidered.

  She just gave him a nod after it appeared he had said what he intended to say, shared a look with her Assistant, who conjured a ball of yellow-white light that was a standard mage light spell, and made her way outside. Once she had crossed the courtyard and clambered over the broken wall, she felt better. The castle's defenses seemed to be capable of affecting her despite the occluding necklace.

  She drew a deep breath, and was determined to break the protections as soon as possible. Right now, however, she needed some supplies.

  It took a few summoning spells to land her a large pile of deadwood, ranging from small sticks to start a fire, to branches as thick as her legs to keep it going for a while. A few more spells resulted in four dead rabbits. She had no trouble killing for food this time.

  Charming the pile of firewood to follow her was no effort at all, and Liane put the rabbits on top of the pile of wood to be carried. Two birds with one stone – the firewood would follow her, so it might as well carry the meat. Clambering the destroyed wall was easier this time around, and she crossed the courtyard with determined strides.

  The castle's oppressive nature bore down on her when she arrived at the entrance hall, and she did her best to ignore it as she walked to the living hall.

  Light flickered from a conjured fire in the hearth, and Liane immediately threw some firewood at it. The conjured flames licked at the fuel source, and Amy let out a relaxing breath when she could finally stop feeding her magic to the fire to keep it burning. Heat was starting to seep into the air.

  “Here is the food, Assistant,” Liane said, motioning to the rabbits on top of the pile of firewood.

  “Rabbits, Proctor?” Amy asked, her comment followed by the first of the preparation spells needed to start cooking them.

  “I know you can make excellent rabbit, Assistant,” Liane said, turning to walk out. “I am going to break the protections now. Please do not interrupt me.”

  After her Proctor left, Amy turned back to the food. It took a few more spells to dress and prepare the meat, before she readied the spell that would do the actual cooking.

  Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Milor reach up to thin air. “Please do not touch anything you see, My Lord,” the young girl said. “There might be dangers involved in touching or accepting any of the offered illusions.”

  Milor jerked his hand away, and shook his head as if awakening from a dream. He looked at her. “Thank you, Assistant. To my eyes, a large banquet is on offer, and it seems that I was overcome by it.” He looked around the hall, then sat himself down, next to the hearth. Instead of on the room, his focus shifted to the sword Liane had built for him, and Amy was quite sure he would be safe now.

  She turned to her cooking spells, and mouth-watering smells started to fill the room.

  Reasonably sure that the first rabbit had turned out fine, the young girl conjured a table and a couple of chairs, as well as some dinnerware. It was nothing fancy or durable beyond a few days, and the chairs and table wobbled both from uneven legs and from the uneven underground, but all of it was useful. Amy frowned slightly. Her conjuration skills were usually better than this, and she had needed a lot more attention and more than just a few spells to create the meal so far. Something strange was definitely going on.

  “I believe we should be the first to eat, My Lord. I prepared the first rabbit, and it should sate our immediate hunger. We can dine extensively when Proctor returns.”

  Milor got up from where he had been studying his new weapon, recognizing that the girl hadn't eaten in days and was quite likely famished. He joined her at the rickety table and sat down on the wobbly chair. He seemed to consider the dish on offer, then said, “Perhaps I shouldn't. It may be another illusion.”

  Amy looked from the food to him, and for a moment, he could see the hunger on her face. “I can assure you that it's safe to eat, My Lord.”

  He was polite enough not to say anything about the pleading tone in her voice, and gratefully accepted half a rabbit. Just as he was about to bite into it, his face twitched in revulsion. “I believe the defenses have just increased, Assistant,” he whispered, placing his food down on the plate she had conjured. “The rabbit now looks as if it has been here for the last two weeks, and smells about the same.”

  Amy looked forlornly at her own meal, wishing with all of her heart to just eat it, to fill her stomach for the first time in days. Slowly, she lowered her hands. “Please eat, Assistant. You require sustenance,” Milor told her.

  “I shouldn't, My Lord,” she whispered. “Decorum. It is impolite to eat unless we can all eat.”

  “I am well aware of that. However, you require food. Please, eat,” he urged her.

  Her hands almost reached for the food, her hunger and her innate instincts warring with her upper consciousness, her drive to adhere to society's standards. “I... I shouldn't,” she whimpered.

  Milor understood. In her position, he would have a hard time overcoming a life time of ingrained Decorum as well. He picked up the abandoned half rabbit, and brought it to his mouth. Closing his eyes and not drawing breath, he nibbled.

  When he opened his eyes, he looked at a young Assistant who was staring at him with gratitude and admiration. “The taste is not yet overcome,” he admitted truthfully. “I will ignore sight and smell for as long as I can, Assistant.”

  Amy nodded gratefully. “Thank you for the trust you have shown in me, My Lord,” she said even as she brought the rabbit up.

  “You're quite welcome, Assistant. It would be rude of me not to partake of a meal you spent a lot of effort in preparing, despite the defenses of this place making it look and smell anything remotely to what you have made of it.”

  She didn't reply, too busy filling the emptiness of her stomach. They ate in silence, Amy lost in thought while Milor kept his gaze firmly focused on the weapon at his side so he did not have to pay attention to what the protection spells on the castle made the food into. “Assistant?” he finally asked, after having devoured the surprisingly tasty rabbit. Despite its sight and smell, it had tasted quite well to him, and he was glad he had decided to overcome his initial revulsion.

  “My Lord?” she focused on him from wherever her thoughts had been.

  “Are you privy to your Proctor's experiments and experience, Assistant?”

  She nodded. “I am, My Lord. I will not betray any of her secrets, however.”

  He gave her a faint smile. “That is good to know. I am, however, enquiring because of this inscription.” He held up the new blade Liane had created for him, and pointed to the cross guard. “The rest of the inscriptions, on the blade itself, are clearly magical in design. However, this inscription seems different. It is written entirely in symbols, yet it doesn't seem to hold magical significance. I am finding myself unable to divine its meaning.” He pointed to a few symbols. “This one is an identifier, this symbol indicates light, and this one appears to indicate darkness.”

  Amy leaned over the table, and frowned slightly as her eyes slid over the inscription. “I am the light of dawn breaking over the shores of Hell,” Amy read. “That appears to be the sword's name, My Lord.”

  Milor appeared to stare at the girl, part in admiration for her comfort with magical writing systems and the ease with which she had just read something that had stumped him for the last half hour, and part in annoyance at the fact that she did, in fact, read something that had stumped him for the last half hour.

  “Thank you, Assistant,” he said. “It is quite interesting that the sword should be named.”

  Amy nodded. “Proctor pushed a lot of magical energy into the creation of the sword. I do not believe she was consciously aware of naming it. Proctor is... unique. Magic is both so easy and so hard for her. She can read about a spell, or a magical theory, and pick it apart, put the pieces together, and come up with something in
credible. Yet, at the same time, it takes her so much practice and effort to actually work the theory. I both greatly envy her mind, and feel for her broken magic that does not allow her to perform magic in any easy fashion.”

  Now that she had some food in her stomach, her magic was returning, and Amy condensed some of the dampness of the air into a pair of glasses made from ice and filled with deliciously cold water. She was an Icecrafter, after all. Milor raised his ice-glass, and lifted it in a salute, one she returned.

  “Perhaps it was magic itself that decided to add the name, My Lord,” she said, returning to their topic. “It appears that proctor's magic has its own will, at times, and influences her. Sometimes it even appears to do what it wants to do, despite Proctor's wishes.”

  “I have great admiration for her,” Milor said. “Through our years at the Academy, we have studied together, and I have had the honor of witnessing her perform magic. I have seen her perform feats of magic that appear to be beyond most of us, yet struggle with a basic light spell.”

  Amy dipped her head, feeling as if she had already divulged too much. Milor understood, tactfully backing off and changing the subject.

  A dull throb went through the building, and to Milor's mind, the beautiful marble walls inlaid with precious mosaics and decorated with intricate frescos just rippled, turning to cold, hard, black stone in an obviously abandoned building. The warmth and light that had been with him since his entry into the palace of his dreams vanished, only to be replaced with the dank of a castle seeing heat for the first time in hundreds of years.

  “It appears the protections have been disabled, Assistant,” Milor commented.

  Amy nodded, got up, and started preparing the second rabbit. Liane would be returning shortly and would probably be starving.

  By the time Liane returned, her Assistant had finished preparing the second rabbit. The older girl struggled into the room, and fell down on one of the rickety chairs Amy had conjured for their use, and nearly fell when the uneven legs caused the chair to pivot.

  “I have disabled the protections,” the Proctor reported superfluously. “I did not have time to break them correctly, so I have disabled the runes that link the protections to the anchors, literally cutting off power to the illusions. It is easy to do, but easy to repair as well. Unfortunately, I did not have any tools so I had to use brute force.”

  Amy placed the rabbit on the table. “Thank you, Assistant,” Liane said as she dug in. While she did, she waved her hand and muttered a few spells. The floor straightened out, the legs evened, and the rickety look of the chairs and table vanished.

  “The illusions were interfering with everything,” she explained finally, after sating her most immediate appetite. “By the time I reached the placement of the protections, my necklace was quite hot, and I was starting to see and feel shadows that weren't actually there upon closer inspection. I do believe the protections were starting to overcome my necklace's protection. It is more than likely that they were also interfering with any ability to do decent magic.”

  Amy nodded. “It would also explain why I needed more spells to create the dishes than on the open road, Proctor.”

  Liane merely nodded, focusing on her meal, pleased that the younger girl hadn't taken the change of furniture badly.

  “My Lady, I have been admiring your handiwork,” Milor brought up his sword, showing her the guard on his weapon. Her eyes slid over the inscription.

  “I did not consciously set those, My Lord,” Liane allowed. “I am afraid that my magic took it upon itself. Sometimes, I wonder if my magic has a mind of its own. At other times, I am convinced that it does.” A small smile graced her lips. “Dawnbreaker, the light of dawn breaking over the shores of Hell. A good name for a magical sword.”

  Milor nodded in agreement. “We are in agreement on that subject, My Lady. I am quite pleased with it.”

  “I am glad, My Lord. The effort involved was quite substantial. I am glad that it is appreciated.”

  Milor stared at her. “You are quite good at understatement, My Lady. The effort involved was larger than merely 'quite substantial'. You were bleeding from nose and eyes, and could hardly remain standing.”

  She frowned, and thought back. True, she had been bleeding from her nose after she handed the sword to Milor. Had it been because of the creation? The entire process was clouded in her mind, her memory hazy and undefined. It was annoying that she couldn't remember everything she had done, and it made her wonder if her magic was starting to affect her mind. “I... cannot remember, My Lord. I remember it being taxing, yet the entire building process is fuzzy to my recollection. I can't remember clearly what happened, what I did, or how I did it. The broad lines are there, but the details are hidden.”

  She finished the piece of rabbit in front of her, and took another. “It didn't wear off for some time afterward; I remember wiping blood from under my nose, but it wasn't until you brought my attention to it that I realized it was because of building the sword. I must have expended a lot of effort and energy, and it must have had a significant impact on my body.” She didn't add that she was glad that her magic hadn't fused, like the last couple of times she did impossible things. That would have been bad for their situation.

  Perhaps her magic had increased in strength to the point where she could do things like that without fusing it, or perhaps she simply hadn't expended the same amount of energy as she had when she invoked some of the great arts on her opponents. Using transmutation on an unwilling Noble was supposed to be nearly impossible, and that air weapon spell Cassandra has written in the book was very nearly as bad.

  They all lapsed into comparative silence, their situation and the recent events still weighing on their minds. They were all nervous, aware that they were still relatively close to their kidnappers and weren't exactly safe yet, yet nobody wanted to be the one to bring the subject up.

  After devouring the four rabbits, the one Warlock and two Mages settled close to the hearth, close to each other, and allowed themselves to drift off to sleep.

  Liane woke up to a spell being placed on her, and panic rose from deep within her as her body refused her commands. Her eyes opened and flashed around in blind terror, trying to see what was happening, and focused on six Warlocks surrounding an old man.

  Seeing other humans, she tried to speak, but her throat choked and only a dull croak was audible. Breathing fearfully, Liane tried to calm her panic and stop her struggle against the paralyzation spells.

  She couldn't turn her head, couldn't look for the others. She hoped they weren't in a worse situation, and fear for her Assistant eclipsed fear for herself.

  Her magic, weak and unsteady after starvation and heavy use over the last few days, struggled against the binds placed on her, and was not making a lot of headway. Liane struggled. Any headway was better than none, and she hoped she'd be able to overcome the spell at some point when one of the Warlocks locked his eyes on hers.

  The spell intensified, solidified, and her magic was slipping over a wall as smooth as polished marble. She gurgled. “She's strong, My Lord. She was starting to unravel my first spell, I had to place a stronger one on her,” the Warlock told the old man.

  His pale and waxy skin looked yellow and brown in the light of the coal in the hearth, and his deep-sunken eyes bored into hers. The Necklace burned against her skin, and he grimaced. “She's protected,” the old man said. “They all are. Except for my nephew, of course. Let him talk.”

  One of the Warlocks made a motion. “Hello, Uncle,” Milor said.

  “Good evening, Nephew,” the old man replied on the same tone. “Although 'good morning' might be better suited. You gave us quite a bit of trouble.”

  “I live to please, Uncle,” Milor replied levelly, and Liane wished she had enough command over her throat to chuckle.

  The old man didn't seem to find it as amusing as Liane did, and his old, wrinkled, eyes narrowed. He shuffled forward, bringing him closer to the red glow
from the hearth and allowing Liane to see more details. His skin wasn't just wrinkled. It looked positively sick, as if desiccated. Compared to the pale and desiccated features of a man that looked half-starved, his belly looked big and swollen, as if filled with a large meal.

  “You have been a bad boy, Nephew. You know what happens to naughty boys.”

  She could imagine Milor lifting an eyebrow. He was always lifting an eyebrow. For a moment, Liane allowed herself to think about the small gesture that had taken her years to copy, and how proud she was when she had finally managed it. “Perhaps you should hand me over to the Adjudicators, Uncle.”

  The old man didn't seem to find that remark funny either. “They get punished, Nephew,” he went on, as if speaking to a small child. He glanced at both Liane and Amy. “But perhaps I should just hurt your little friends instead. They seem to be very loyal, having come to rescue you. I am sure they would be willing to take your punishment for you.”

  Liane croaked. The old man stared at her, then motioned the Warlock who was still staring straight at her. “Let her speak.”

  Her voice returned, and Liane gasped for breath. “Do not hurt my Assistant, My Lord,” Liane said. “I will take your punishment.”

  “My Lady!” Milor shouted, but a sign of the old man had his voice cut off before he could say any more.

  “You are strong,” the old man said. “Willing to take upon yourself what is aimed at others. Brave. Noble.” He thought for a few seconds. “Noble as hasn't been seen in Kirian Nobility in quite some time. Very well, girl. In honor of your bravery and Nobility, you'll be punished.” He looked at one of the Warlocks. “Make the little one sleep. Keep my Nephew awake and silent. Punish the mouthy one.”

  The world turned red and blue and brown, and Liane was faintly aware of someone screaming in the background, a sound drowned out by the cacophony of crackling that seemed to emerge straight into her brain and raging noise that came in through her ears.