REACHING deep, Nagarath sounded what remained of his Art. It was not much, but there was power enough for whatever plan Liara had in mind.

Attack him. For all he's worth. Her urging echoed in his mind.

Memories of the girl, headstrong and willful, came thick and fast to Nagarath's mind as he stood to face Anisthe. He'd heard of such things happening when you died, a brief reliving in your final moments. Odd that his memories should be so full of Liara: Liara laughing in the sunlit garden; Liara, petulant and pouting, as she demanded magecraft of him; Liara, his little magpie, dutifully reciting the laws of magick . . .

Setting his jaw, Nagarath raised his wand one last time, the act as galvanizing as the realization that he'd been wrong about the girl all along. Liara knew her Art, even if he had been so misguided as to keep it from her. She knew magick because, in many ways, she was magick, more so than any mere mage might lay claim to.

Nagarath risked a look to Liara as she stood her ground behind him. She looked calm but terrified, even as she opened her mouth to address their enemy.

"Anisthe of Vrsar," she began, "I give you a choice. Let me go. Release any and all claim upon me and mine. And I will not destroy you."

Anisthe raised his hands in mock surrender. "Stupid girl, you should know that you cannot hurt me—"

The room brightened as Liara lifted one hand, forcing her power outward, a wavering shield of light that caught the war mage a glancing blow.

"I warned you." Liara advanced, her hand held up, palm out.

Stumbling as his own aura flashed, rebuffing Liara's challenge, Anisthe growled. "As my own creation, you cannot hope to destroy me without destroying yourself. You see what happens when your aura hits mine. You cannot hurt me with my magick."

"No. But I can!" With Anisthe distracted, Nagarath saw his chance. Lightning, bright and deadly, flashed from his wand towards the war mage, forcing Anisthe to draw deep—Art for Art, spell for spell, a true wizard's duel at last.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nagarath saw Liara leap into action. Her face was set like stone, resolute and fearless, as she dashed her free hand against the hard tile floor, the object hidden in her grasp yielding with a resounding crack.

Oh, my clever magpie. With a twist of his wrist, Nagarath called back his attack, even as he felt the shift in the war mage's aura, the dangerous undertow of a receding wave. Power bled into the air, white-hot and terrible. And at the center of this magickal maelstrom crouched Liara, unmoving on the parlor floor, her eyes reflecting the dazzling brilliance that leaked out from under her hands.

~*~

Liara watched, mesmerized as magick, pearl white and blinding, bled out from beneath her prone hand, illuminating the tile floor and turning the tips of her fingers a translucent pink. Distracted by the sight, she felt more than saw Nagarath pull back on his attack, the energy in the room shifting. With a shiver, she sat back onto her heels, blinking color and form back into her sight and wondering at the sudden silence.

It was like a raincloud had opened up in Anisthe's parlor. The air felt cleansed, fresh, as the war mage's freed sorcery darted about the corners of the room, seeking release. Drawing a shaky breath, Liara winced as sound returned: Anisthe's anguished howls of despair raked at her ears, his words of magick devolved into babbled gibberish.

Her plan had worked.

Liara found her voice. "Laws of Magick Transferre. First Law: a Magicked Artifact must be sound both physically and magickally in order to function as intended. Second Law: damage to either the physical or magickal condition of a Magicked Artifact will affect the outcome of Magicks performed through said Artifact."

She raised her hand, revealing Anisthe's pendant, lifted from the wizard moments before Nagarath had burst into the room. The amulet of power twisted on its chain, the large crack in its side catching the firelight, the silver spider within looking warped through the fractured amber.

Nagarath knelt by the war mage who lay on his side, moaning as the power fled his body. "You were always one to rely on tricks and outside trinkets. Tell me, how much of your Art had you passed to that pendant?"

Anisthe lay limply on the tile floor, his eyes feverish, his words so faint that one could hardly hear his whisper.

"Could you cast anything without it anymore?" Nagarath was beyond incredulous. Anisthe shook his head weakly.

Liara rose shakily to her feet, more stars dancing in her vision with the movement. Her knees turned to jelly and she stumbled, her eyes still on the war mage.

Nagarath rushed to her side, worry etched into his every feature. Liara waved him off. "I'm all right. Just . . . weak."

Nagarath nodded, his eyes darting to fix on a point somewhere past her shoulder. Liara turned to see a handful of Anisthe's servants standing white-faced in the doorway.

"Your master is incantate." Nagarath raised his wand, a gentle threat. "I suggest you seek employment elsewhere and not detain us."

Liara sank back into the couch, relieved as the servants looked to their master, whispering amongst themselves before fleeing into the night.

Incantate. Liara looked back to the broken pendant in her hands. It wasn't that she had expected anything else when she'd formulated her wild plan for freedom. Where other spells of the war mage might have ended, as a living, breathing human being, she would likely never feel any other effects of the magickal tie between herself and the wizard who had lost his gift—so long as he stayed alive. She would reach the age of autonomy with her twentieth year, not but three years hence. Surely she and Nagarath could keep the man out of trouble until then.

~*~

In spite of all, Liara's words to Nagarath were a gentle remonstrance. "Why didn't you just tell me? Trust me?"

He swallowed tightly. "I feared—I feared that somehow you knowing who your progenaurae was might lead him to you or you to him. Anisthe is—has always been—charming, and I worried what influence he might be able to gain over you. I promised this to Father Phenlick long years ago, when I moved to Limska Draga. Barely fifteen, my education incomplete—to this day, I see it as a small miracle that he didn't simply have me run out of the valley. You were six at the time. And Anisthe was long gone, scattered to the winds. I had no idea, little magpie, that he was this close by. I did not realize it was he who had destroyed Dvigrad. Had I known . . ."

He shook his head, choking on his words. Had he known, he wouldn't have done a thing different, caught up as he'd been in his own immediate fears and the stubborn belief that he was the only one who could keep them safe. And that was his mistake. The image of Liara, confident in the face of her own potential destruction, rose to his mind.

Nagarath's voice sank to a whisper. "The truth is, in the beginning I wanted to protect you. I wanted to save you from all of this. I thought that if I kept magick from you, kept knowledge of him from you, you would be safe. You were my penance for past actions, Liara. I let Anisthe loose upon the world, and his misdeeds were my own. Then, last spring, you suddenly became my full-time responsibility, and I soon realized I didn't just want to keep you safe out of duty, but because I'd grown to care for you."

"And then I betrayed you—tried to kill you." Liara's voice hitched, a sob cutting through.

Memories of the catalogue's spells pulling him in, the parchment boiling as the finding spell cracked and unraveled underneath his outstretched hand, echoed through Nagarath's mind. Anisthe's amber-encased spider winked in Liara's hand. His clever magpie. Aurenaurae—made from magick and just as dangerous. He shivered, once more grateful that most of his injuries were physical.

Nagarath considered hiding the truth from Liara once again, downplaying the danger to protect her from her guilt. But then, they'd seen where that got them. Smiling weakly, he continued, "You know me. All I knew was that you'd stripped me of the careful wards I'd placed about my aura . . . wards that, yes, I had placed for the sole purpose of hiding how close our signatures were. I knew full well there'd be questions."

"And if you'd answered them, you'd have had to tell me about Anisthe and how you knew him."

"Yes, for we are—were—brothers-in-magick through our apprenticeship to Archmage Cromen, our signatures patterned after his own and therefore nearly identical, save for what we've managed to make of ourselves in the years since," Nagarath finished. He flicked his eyes to where the huddled Anisthe had managed to sit up, if delicately.

"We are brothers-in-magick, Nagarath," he protested, his voice weak. "And Liara is mine, whether I have the Art to claim her or not. I will find a way to get my power back. And when I do—"

"Do be so kind as to let us know." Nagarath rose to his feet, looking down on his former friend. "I can only spend so much energy keeping an eye on what you do.

"Come." His voice now betraying a slight rasp, his gait a slight limp, Nagarath offered his arm to Liara, turning his back on Anisthe. Together, the pair walked out the shattered door, neither looking back at the broken man they left behind. Anisthe of Vrsar was a war mage no longer.

~*~

"Why did you come back after . . .?" Liara choked on the words as she truly looked at Nagarath's haggard face and battered body for the first time. In Anisthe's house, Nagarath had seemed invincible, his wounds superficial.

"Oh, my Liara, must you ask?" He stopped and cupped his good hand around her cheek. "How could I not?"

The sweet, familiar gesture reduced Liara to tears. Sobbing, she flung herself against Nagarath, her voice muffled in the folds of his cloak. "But I'm awful. I'm bad. . . and evil . . . and awful, and yet you came for me."

"Liara, my dear little magpie, I—"

He paused, his face contorting with pain as he grasped his side. Liara hastily extricated herself from the embrace, remembering that she was likely worsening her mage's injuries. He continued, weak, though his gaze blazed with an intensity she'd never seen before. "Liara, I would never have left you to Anisthe's designs."

"I should give up magick." The words were out of her mouth before she thought about them. She owed Nagarath something, some sacrifice of herself. And as she had nothing but her Art to give . . .

"No, Liara. That I won't allow. You will not be less of yourself. I have lived my life that way for years, and so thought it the right path for you. But no, you proved today that you will make a fine magus. And, I suppose, you'll always be a passable good thief."

Liara allowed herself to smile with him.

"I think, in fact, that you'll be getting all of your heart's wishes in one day." Nagarath's eyes held the sparkle of mischief. "Your apprenticeship will begin with a spell to get us home, provided you've the strength. I, unfortunately, used most of what power I had left in getting me to Vrsar."

Liara felt a new stab of sorrow. In the terror and tumult following Nagarath's entrance, she hadn't noticed that there was something different about him other than injury and exhaustion. "Your staff . . ."

Nagarath looked about himself, confused. "My—? Oh." He rushed to ease her conscience. "I left it in Limska Draga for this one-way journey. I was not eager that Anisthe discover its secrets."

Liara blushed with the heat of his intended sacrifice. Tears stung her eyes. "Nagarath. If you didn't know where I had gone, how did you find me?"

The mage chuckled and tweaked her nose. "Don't you remember my telling you that I am quite hard to steal from, little magpie?"

Liara blinked in surprise at his sudden humor. For a moment, she wondered if Nagarath had done more injury to his head than was visible. But then, he'd always been this way. Glib. Endearing. She liked it.

She ventured, "So . . . back to Parentino? For that is where Anisthe—my spell—took me before."

Nagarath's mouth twitched, rueful, as he gingerly ran his fingers through his hair. "You'll find that Parentino is not exactly fit for habitation, at present. And, as I hesitate to linger here . . . Dvigrad? Yes, before you ask, my dear: I trust you. Let us away."

Breathlessly, Liara felt the world stretch out before her, a future unrealized and uncertain, but full of possibilities. She had lost so much that day, yet what she'd gained was far beyond what she'd let herself dream. It was, in a way, its own sort of magick.

Liara's gaze caught at Nagarath's gray eyes as the mage held out his hand to her. With only the smallest of hesitation, Liara took it, whispering the words of magick that would take them home.

END