The Magic, Warped (The MagicWarper Trilogy Book 1)

by Rick Field

  Her magic shrunk, feeling like a small clump of black coal, sitting heavily on her mood. She had always hated feeling helpless; had never sat still when she was in a powerless situation.

  And yet, here she was, unable to use her hands or arms, her magic sealed, her body stripped of all but the most meager of clothing, and all she could do was sit here, depending on her Assistant to feed her and help her with other necessary bodily functions, humiliating herself and the girl.

  It was an unacceptable situation, and her depression turned to unexpected anger. She had to do something!

  Her fists clenched, and pain tore through her chest when her coal-like magic exploded into raging energy trying to free itself. She gasped, somehow managing to stifle a scream.

  At least, she thought so, before the world went black.

  Her body felt stiff and sore when she reopened her eyes. To her dismay, she stared straight up into the worried face of Milor.

  “My Lord,” she croaked.

  His relief was evident when a small smile twitched on his lips. “It is good to see you awake once more, My Lady,” he told her.

  “How long was I out?” she requested, grimacing when trying to move produced only burning pain from her muscles. In her chest, her magic whimpered like an injured animal.

  “It was quite some time, My Lady,” Milor answered. “As of now, we are still unable to tell time.”

  She accepted that, and tried once more, fruitlessly, to move. Her stomach growled, alerting her to the fact that she had been knocked unconscious before she had been able to eat. “We have left your share, My Lady,” Milor said, looking over his shoulder at the table. “Although I do not know in what kind of condition it would be.”

  Liane groaned when she tried a third time to sit up, and smiled gratefully at Amy, who suddenly appeared on her other side and helped her upright. Her entire body felt like a single cramped-up muscle, and it interfered even with her ability to stand on her own two legs. Amy finally had to support her as she limped to the table and fell down in one of the chairs.

  The young Assistant held out a spoon of slurry in almost no time.

  While she ate, Milor lowered himself into the last available chair. “I owe you a large apology, My Lady,” he began. Liane merely stared at him, not saying anything. “You have gone through great lengths to help me, and all I have been able to give are meaningless generalities and useless facts. I am deeply sorry that you and your Assistant are in this situation because of your friendship with me.”

  Liane finished her last half-spoon of slurry, not even recognizing the taste and just mindlessly swallowing it down. She'd been brought up in an orphanage, she knew how to eat without tasting. She was still hungry, yet ignored that, too. More training from her early childhood that she thought she would no longer need, yet came in handy now.

  Instead of thinking of childhood and hardship, she kept her focus firmly on him. “And yet, My Lord, you seem unwilling to disclose the reason as to why we are here.” She glanced quickly from her Assistant to him, and added, “I also find myself curious as to the strangely appropriate timing of your apology, seeing as I had a discussion on this subject with my Assistant right before my... mishap.”

  Milor didn't give an indication of his thoughts. “I merely had some time to think during my rest period, My Lady.”

  She narrowed her eyes at his statement. He hadn't denied Amy's involvement, which was as good as an admission. “I apologize, Proctor,” the younger girl said. “I am afraid My Lord Milor was not as asleep as we thought, and he questioned me extensively after you... had your mishap. He is far, far, better at Decorum than I am, and I am afraid I was unable to keep secrets.”

  The girl looked plenty miserable, and Liane couldn't find it in her heart to remain angry at the girl. “My Lord Milor was the one who taught me Decorum, Assistant. Unfortunately, he seems to have taught me all that I know, yet not all that he knows, and was able to exploit the situation, as well as the inexperience of a young Assistant, to gain what he wanted.”

  Milor looked slightly guilty. “You have been my friend and companion for many years, My Lady. I merely wished to know how to make amends,” he told her, before turning to Amy. “I wish to offer my apologies for causing you to break confidence with your Proctor, Assistant.”

  “Perhaps if you explained what I wanted to know, My Lord, we may not have found ourselves at odds. I prefer to think that both myself and my Assistant have earned the right to know,” Liane stated coolly. “And I do not blame my Assistant for the breach in confidence. I also would not blame her should she choose not to forgive you for taking advantage of her age and inexperience.”

  Amy was silent, staring back and forth between her Proctor and her Proctor's best friend. Her face showed her indecision, the conflict within her, as she looked from one to the other. “I do not wish to cause yet more friction between yourself and your best friend, Proctor,” the young girl finally said, before looking at Milor, and saying, “I will forgive you, My Lord.”

  “Thank you, Assistant,” Milor said before Liane could say anything. He turned to Liane, and went on, “Unfortunately, My Lady, I am unable to say anything.”

  Liane's eyes narrowed and her lips thinned in irritation. “Unable or unwilling? My Lord?” she almost snapped, a tone of voice that was definitely skirting the edges of Decorum and revealed more of her orphaned background than she had wanted. She'd just managed to tack on the respectful address at the end, but it had definitely been on the edge and they all knew it.

  “Unable, My Lady.” Milor definitely didn't show he had heard her angry almost-mistake, and continued his usual calm tones. “I am willing, yet unable.”

  Liane cocked her head and studied him. There were few things in Kiria that could prevent a person from saying what they wanted to say, and most of those were restricted. Thinking of the secrecy oaths she and Amy had taken before entering Deep Secrets classes, she realized that something of high importance was going on.

  “This is not just about the Rules of Equality,” she said. Not a question, but a statement. “This is about an oath, a vow, or similar.”

  Milor stared at her, opened his mouth, grimaced painfully, and fell silent. “I cannot say, My Lady.”

  “I see,” Liane said, studying him. “That is most unfortunate.”

  Milor just sat in silence, looking as miserable as she had ever seen him, staring at her with hopeful eyes. “Extremely unfortunate, My Lord,” she said. “It brings yet more questions, questions I am now very sure will never get answered.” She sighed. “I do not wish to die with questions.”

  “I am very sorry, My Lady. If it had not been for your friendship with me-” she cut him off.

  “If it had not been for your friendship, it is likely I would have been challenged in first year, and lost immediately, My Lord. It was your tutelage in Decorum, and later your tutelage during mock battles, that have allowed me to survive until this point.”

  He remained silent while Liane digested both the goop and the discussion.

  “There seems to be little choice, My Lord,” she said softly. “I apologize for making it difficult for you.”

  “You had every right to be angry with me, My Lady,” he told her. “However, I will forgive you, if you accept my apology in return.”

  She sighed, and nodded. “I forgive you, My Lord, on the condition that, should we manage to survive and escape, you will answer my questions the moment that you are able to.”

  He smiled faintly. “That sounds excellent, My Lady.”

  They lapsed into a comfortable silence, each trying to come to terms with the recent events in their own way. With her stomach filled with two and a half spoons of tasteless slurry, Liane felt her magic soothe a bit, resuming its tentative pushes toward the gauntlets sealing it away. It certainly felt like wasted effort on her magic's part, she didn't feel any progress.

  They were all still as helpless as they had been before.

  “My Lady?” Milo
r asked.

  Liane blinked herself out of her spiraling thoughts, and looked at her friend, giving him her attention. “Do you remember when we first met, My Lady?” he asked of her.

  An involuntary smile appeared on her lips. “I was sitting by myself in the large hall, studying the others,” she said, her eyes not seeing their current situation, but rather, recalling the scene from when she had been officially allowed to join the ranks of the students. She blinked, returned to the present day, and looked at Amy. “So I was sitting by myself, studying the other students. And suddenly, there was this brash boy who asked if he could sit by me and join me in my studies of the other students.”

  Milor nodded. “I noticed this one girl sitting hopelessly by herself while all the other students were talking and befriending each other. I decided I'd rather get to know this strange person, who was watching everybody else, then know those who walked in the mold expected of us.” Amy was grinning, while Milor gave Liane a soft smile. “I do not believe I have ever regretted that decision, even when that friend got me to study Runes, Glyphs, and Magical Symbols.”

  Liane was about to add that the only regrets about their friendship had been in the last few days, but she decided not to. “And yet I promised to aid you in those studies, My Lord, and I do believe you did rather well.”

  Milor dipped his head in agreement. “That I did, and I thanked you for it.”

  “That you did, My Lord. I am pleased I was able to assist in your education,” she told him.

  *****

  “And there we were. My Lady was showing me her Proctor's Masterpiece, when said Proctor entered the room and immediately assumed we had been doing something untoward and offered to check My Lady's chastity,” Milor relayed, his eyes dancing with mirth as he recalled the story for Amy. The younger girl giggled. They had been talking, reminiscing, for quite a long time, and they were all hungry. Nobody commented on it, it would serve no purpose to bring attention to the lack of food.

  Liane glared at her Assistant. “It is not funny, Assistant.”

  “Begging Proctor's indulgence, but this humble Assistant disagrees. That was very funny,” Amy said, still smiling widely.

  “You would have enjoyed my Proctor's companionship, Assistant. She, too, found it funny to mortally embarrass me in front of my only friend,” Liane responded, although the smile on her lips took the sting out of her words. “My Lady Cassandra of the Storms had a unique personality. For example, she believed it was 'funny' to get her Assistant incredibly drunk, then allow her to fall asleep on the floor under her desk, before waking her up in the mornings with a loud and cheerful 'good morning Assistant'. Thankfully, she was kind enough to have a hangover cure ready when she did so.”

  Amy giggled again, and even Milor smiled widely, having never heard that detail.

  Keys rattled and the door screeched when the locks were opened. The trio fell silent, keeping an eye on the door to see who would enter this time.

  It was the loudmouth Warlock accompanying a guard carrying a tray and a replacement lamp. While the guard switched out the dishes and the lantern, the Warlock grinned at Liane. “I don't know how you know that one Commoner, young one, but his pleas to leave you alone aren't going to work on me.”

  Liane attempted to pull her shoulders back and give her a better posture, but all she really resulted in doing was pushing out her barely covered chest. His eyes dropped, and his grin widened. “Yes,” he said, half to himself and half to her. “I think I'll enjoy you.”

  “I think you'll leave me alone, My Lord,” she returned, feeling her innards clench at having to address him with a Noble moniker. “It's probably not in your best interest to start fighting among yourselves.”

  He suddenly appeared deep within her personal space, his face mere centimeters from hers. Last time his breath had reeked of fish, this time it stank of cheap wine. Deep inside herself, she realized he was drunk, and likely not in control over his own actions. She may have just made a mistake in trying to keep him away from her!

  “I'll decide what's in my best interest, young one,” he told her. She almost gagged at the scent of his breath, and averted her head in an effort to get fresh air. “Some filthy Commoner isn't going to stop me.” she shivered when his hand touched her chin and it forced her head around to make her look at him. “You'll bear nice, big, strong, children,” he taunted her. “Maybe we should start right now. Your lover and your brat can watch. Maybe they'll learn something!”

  A second shiver went down her spine, and Liane felt herself gag in disgust. His hand on her chin pulled at her, and a groan escape her clenched teeth when he yanked hard enough to get her to move out of the chair. She heard commotion, and saw Milor on the ground with the guard's heavily booted foot on his chest, and the guard's sword pointing down at his throat. He was scowling, but could not move with his hands locked behind his back.

  She allowed herself to fall ungracefully, not wanting to give in to his commands. “Sir, I don't think-” the guard said as the Warlock growled and yanked on her hazelnut colored hair, forcing her halfway to her feet.

  “No, you don't think!” the Warlock snapped back. “This one is mine, and I'm going to have a taste of marriage.”

  Liane swallowed deeply, trying to get rid of the horror that clenched her throat shut and the disgust that tightened her stomach. Her heart hammered in her throat, fear compressing her magic.

  “Sir, Yari will cut your throat if you touch her,” the guard tried again. “She's his.”

  Liane only vaguely heard the guard, and she wondered for a split second whether she'd rather be Yari's or this beast's.

  She wanted to be her own, she didn't want to belong to either of the two men. The hand in her hair yanked, then pushed. For just a moment, she was vaguely airborne, fear stopping her breathing and making her heart race. Red and yellow stars exploded through her vision when her head struck the wall.

  She groaned dully when reality wavered in and out of existence.

  A scream penetrated the fog that was half-clouding her judgment. Amy!

  “He said nothing of this one,” the Warlock grinned, yanking on Amy's hair. The girl screamed again, tears flowing down her cheeks. “She might be a bit young, but that won't stop me.”

  “Sir...” the guard tried again.

  “Get out,” the Warlock snapped. “Get out, I'll be fine here.”

  The guard hesitated. The Warlock waved his hand, freezing Milor in place, then snapped his finger to push the guard to the door. The man got the point, got out, and locked the door. “Don't open the door until I knock!” the Warlock snapped after the guard. “This might get rowdy, just the way I like it!”

  He reached down to the girl's chest, as if preparing to unwrap a present. “No!” Liane snapped.

  “Oh?” he asked, turning to her, an amused smirk on his face. “Something you want to say, young one?”

  She knew, just knew that this was what he wanted. He had no interest in Amy. He wanted her, Liane. “Leave her alone!” she protested.

  “Why would I?” he asked with a grin, his big hand now very near to pawing Amy's chest. The girl whimpered, trying to keep absolutely still.

  Liane's courage sank in her feet. She was alone, vulnerable, and helpless. Her friend had been immobilized, and her Assistant was about to be assaulted. And she, Liane, the MagicWarper, Prime Student of the Academy, Magus of the Student Council, had nothing left with which to bargain for her Assistant's safety.

  Tears blurred her vision of the world. “I'll do it,” she whispered. “I'll take her place.”

  “Proctor! No!” Amy shouted. From the floor, Milor managed a single, dull groan.

  “I'll do it, now let her go,” she said. The Warlock's grin turned into a wide smirk and Liane knew that she had guessed correctly. He had wanted her to react that way, he had seen her do it before, taking the punishment spells to save her Assistant. It was her weakness, but she saw no other way to spare the younger girl.

 
The man threw the girl at the bed, making her bounce off and hit the floor on the other side. Liane made to go for her, when a big claw grabbed hold of her long hazel hair and yanked her off-balance. She started to fall, only to be shoved face-down on the table, sending the tray with the food flying and clattering all over the ground.

  For a mere moment, the thought of what was about to happen was replaced with the thought of the food that was now wasted. It did not last long as his weight crushed down on her.

  Disgust made way for fear and panic, and she screamed when she struggled underneath him. He chuckled. “Struggle for me, young one. Struggle,” he encouraged her.

  The panic rushed into her magic, the tight ball of energy exploding through her chest, sending burning pain through her entire body. She could feel herself pass out, but her panic kept her going. Fear of her life, fear and panic of the entire situation encompassed her, displacing conscious thought.

  And the world turned red.

  Magic burned, and pain turned to ecstasy as her magic raged at the restraints. Microscopic fractures, fractures created by the earlier runs of her magic at the protections, split like seams. Hissing came from between them, and the Warlock cursed loudly.

  “Everything alright!?” the guard shouted through the door.

  “Just fine!” the Warlock shouted back, his weight bearing down on Liane once more. The seams fractured, and her magic burst through like a raging torrent. “What the...” the Warlock whispered before the torrent ripped into his body, turning it into a fine red mist.

  Liane lay, face-down, on the table, panting. Her magic fused into a tight ball as the redness disappeared from her vision, and she vaguely started to realize what had happened.

  Her shoulders exploded in pain when she brought her hands to her front for the first time in days. She stared at her lower arms, where burn marks were visible from where her magic had burnt the restraints off her. They were hurting in an eerily unknown fashion, a kind of pain she had never felt before, and one she did not much care for.

  “Proctor?” Amy whispered.