01-12-2025, 10:19 PM
Now there were two lines in the officer's club door, the long line of people trying to get in, and a trickle of people egressing with their drinks. Leachelle watched the line for a few moments, trying to figure out how to extricate herself from their mad plans.
"I think the Daughters made a good decision in buying and renovating the old community center. This officer's club is too tiny for an event like this," she observed.
"Why doesn't the DOW just rent time in the new community center?" Buchanin asked, craning his head down her way. He felt her shrug, her narrow shoulder against his ribs.
"The Daughters of the Word's council does not get along with the community center's owners. Politics among the nobles," Mishiel muttered as she turned to tug Echart over to the bar's wall a few feet away.
When they got there, Mishiel pulled Echart's head down, the light in her eyes could only be called wanton. Leachelle immediately looked away as the pair began to kiss, his hand cupping the back of her friends dress. She found Buchanin grinning at the two. Why does he like what they are doing? What they are doing should only be done in private, not out here in front of all these strangers. Am I just a prude? What if Buchanin wants me to act and be the same way? Her heart began to thud in alarm when the soldier did look down at her. Secretly she would have been thrilled if Buchanin was kissing and touching her that way, but not out in the open like this.
"I didn't know about the politics going on with the Daughters and other nobles," she said hoping she was distracting the young officer from the type of thoughts the lovers may have been implanting in his head.
Folding around her, so that they were now in a face to face hug, Buchanin started a slow penguin waddle that was forcing her toward the back wall. Alarm bells began to ring in her mind, though his walk was gentle and could have been easily resisted. Oh please Lords of Light and Life, don't let the Burning Spirits be influencing Buchanin's thoughts! Please, oh please, no!
"This is just the information I need to know," he said grinning down at her. Intrigued despite her immediate fears, her expression coaxed him to reveal more. "Being uprooted from Alren and being planted here in Bolloren means I'm behind on knowing all the politics in this city. An officer has to know what the nobles are doing, what they back or oppose, who supports us guards, and who wants our city state to be vulnerable."
Her back came up against the wall at that moment, meaning she no longer had time to counter being moved. Yet it was nice the way he was holding her, it felt safe and warm... so far.
"Just the nobles? What about knowing what the artifact level magisters are thinking and doing? They are also tied into the politics of Bolloren and rival city states." His eyebrows rose as his expression changed from hungry to considering.
"That helps. In Alren we discount the magister's. We only have a couple of artifact wielders and they are both cowards hiding away in their tax payer funded mansions. All us guard from Alren treat them as a joke, they don't matter to us." Buchanin's admission was startling to Leachelle. Would he think my father was a joke if he met him? His lips brushed her forehead, oh so gently....
Bearing a round tray, Lady Shashaw pressed through the doorway. The young noble woman's advent felt more like a rescue to Leachelle, as though Shashaw was the cavalry riding down slavers at this critical moment. Reluctantly, Buchanin backed away turning to ready himself for his drink. Echart and Mishiel also parted, both of them straightening their clothing from the light mussing that had occurred. Her grin having grown with delight, Lady Shashaw presented their drinks on her tray.
"I love spring, all the lovers come out," she said unabashedly. Leachelle blinked, having assumed the noble woman would have been scandalized rather then delighted. By the Light, I am a prude!
Three wine glasses full of bubbling champagne and an intermezzo style shot glass that had a stem and foot sat upon the tray; apple green schnapps filled that odd little drinking vessel.
Avarice on his face, Echart's hand darted for his schnapps. Buchanin gestured for Leachelle to take her beverage before he even reached, which gave Mishiel time to gather a champagne first. "We have several servers wandering the dance floor. When you're done with your drinks, please hand the glasses off to one of them instead of setting them on the grass. We want our donations to serve soldiers, not replace glasses and mugs," Lady Shashaw stated with a twinkle in her eye. With that the tiny noble girl moved off to take another order. Echart, who had just downed his drink was left holding his glass, not fast enough to place it on the DOW volunteer's tray.
Tilting her glass Leachelle watched the bubbles for a second, the straw colored beverage did not have the fizz of a fresh off the ice bottle.
"Hmm, this bottle has been open a few minutes," she stated. "Still chilled though." She swirled her glass then put it too her nose. There was a hint of stewed fruit mixed with the memory of autumn leaves, fresh fallen. Her glass was already at her lip when Leachelle opened her eyes and found her friends watching her. She couldn't help but smile as she took her first sip, they seemed mystified by the ritual she was conducting. The body was somewhere between a dry wine and a fruity wine, but diffused by the explosion of bubbles on tongue and palate. A hint of alcohol acidity made it hard to differentiate whether the champagne had a fruity background or a berry base. The grape was subtle behind the earthy loam like hints that finished the taste.
Mishiel tilted her head, her eyes drawn up with an unspoken question, as Leachelle finally swallowed her sample. "This is a Bolloren produced champagne. Landseean champagne doesn't have any berry like hints in it's flavor." Buchanin drew away giving Leachelle a skeptical eye.
"You got all that from a sip? How?" Indicating Echart she gave her answer.
"He had it somewhat right. Champagne is wine with extra bubbles, which means you have to appreciate it like you would a wine. Champagne is harder to read, but the experience is very similar and adds to the enjoyment." Mishiel cocked her eyebrow, and began to test what she had just learned. Shrugging first, Buchanin also began to swirl his beverage before setting his nose over the glass rim.
The line to the door had become very short, but the line coming out had stopped being a trickle and was now a continuous stream of people. Even some of the band's members were back on stage, conversing in their seats.
"The bubbles tickle," Mishiel complained, before her brow furrowed. "Oh." The girl had just found the hints hidden in the scent, just as Buchanin drew back with raised eyebrows. Taking another sip she continued to watch Buchanin and Mishiel discover their inner enomania. While Mishiel was drawing breath over tongue with her first sip, her eyes closed at the symphony of flavors and sensations; a beatific smile preceded those lovely eyes fluttering back open. Meanwhile Echart was watching everyone like a child who had been excluded from the big kid games.
Taking pity on him, Leachelle offered her glass for Echart to try true champagne tasting. His eyes narrowed a first as if he thought she was up to some trick, but hesitantly he reached for the drink. With gesture alone she corrected the blond young man's angle of tilt and swirl. Like Mishiel, his nose twitched from the fizz as he inhaled the vine wrought bouquet. Ah ha, he's catching on, she thought with a bit of vindication. A full sense of accomplishment hit her when his eyebrows rose as he drew breath over his first sip.
"Is this something you learned in the palace?" Mishiel asked at the same time that Buchanin fired his own inquiry her way.
"Where did you learn this?"
Hoping Buchanin would put his arm around her again, she leaned into the young soldier as he and Mishiel grinned at each other's timing. The arm brought warmth and tingles when he draped it around Leachealle.
"My grandfather on my mother's side owns and runs a vineyard out by Rularic Falls. My mother grew up helping him, she knew every aspect of the process. Growing the grapes, pressing, mixing, fermentation, bottling, you name it, she knew it." Offering her glass back, Echart actually smiled Leachelle's way.
"I get it now. I always thought the sniffing and sipping was just pretension."
Buchanin's chuckle seemed to vibrate through Leachelle's shoulder compressed to his chest
"Is it pretension or sophistry?" Everyones grin grew at that.
"It would only be sophistry if there wasn't anything backing it up. But now that we know what's up, we are all just a lot more pretentious." Mishiel stated, bumping her hip into Echart's thigh. The cavalry officer wrapped his arms around Mishiel from behind just before he bent and began to nibble at her neck. Again Leachelle found herself disturbed by the feral light that entered her friend's eyes, a carnal look that was both primal and immediate. Buchanin's arm slightly tightened around her, causing fear and longing to send chills up her spine.
Please don't! Please don't, Leachelle thought, even as she wondered how Buchanin's lips would feel on her neck. Instead of a demand for intimacy, the halbadier officer moved to face her with a raised glass.
"Do you have any more tips or lessons that would help me be more presentable to a lady like you?" he asked, his voice low so that it only carried to her. Is he making fun of me? she asked herself before actually reading his expression. With his glass held up for a toast, his eyes roved over her form with the same male hunger she had just seen in Echart's eyes. Pleasure and fear worked in equal measure, never canceling each other out in her core.
I wish I were as bold as Mishiel. I would kiss him if I were. Not really knowing how to respond, she just chimed her glass rim against his.
"You are doing just fine, soldier," she said. Immediately she worried if her words were too neutral, that she wasn't giving him the right signals. She just didn't know what signals she should give, though. Does he really like how I look, I don't really have the curves all the other girls have? Like Mishiel has. His bold gray eyes contacted hers again as he sipped his champagne, like he had received a toast. Sipping at her own drink, Leachelle agonized over how she should proceed.
He leaned a shoulder against the wall, cutting off all view of Mishiel craning her neck for further nibbling while sipping champagne with hedonistic abandon. Guiding her by her hip, Buchanin's strong hands encouraged her to lean with him; his grin grew with this success. His hand remained, heat flowing through her dress from the contact, they were only inches apart.
"So, how long before you test for your own relic?" Oh thank the Lords of Light and Life, she thought, feeling some of the pressure of her indecision lifting. Talking is safe. I can do that for now, but I do want to kiss some more. Just not like Echart and Mishiel are.
More as a gambit to buy time, Leachelle swirled her beverage then drew breath over her sip so she could catch the nuance of the champagne again.
"Three years. Magisters have a five year period of apprenticeship," she answered, eating up the way he was looking at her. Lifting his free hand he ran a finger down her cheek then down her neck, gentle and lingering while there. No lie, the contact felt good. His touch also bordered on the dangerous.
"Any idea what your specialty might be?" Buchanin's questions sounded casual, but his eyes also showed divided interest as he asked.
Though low, his voice sounded interested, yet there was a hunger in his eyes as he watched her skin pebble where his finger traced.
"I won't know until I meet my relic. My training talismanic level relic manifested electricity really well, but this one I have now excels at telekenetics and wind currents. We Human's aren't like the Faelora who can do anything with their relics, if they can form the right spell. That's why we have specialties that manifest when we bond with our instrument." His eyes shifted to her shoulder and arm, where he shifted his touch. His hand stroked gently down her thin limb, seeming to savor the contact as much as she did.
The hand went from elbow to hip, sliding back to lay along the profile of her bottom; not quite cupping. Inadvertently Leachelle stiffened, fearing that she was about to be groped. She hated herself a little bit at the disappointment that came when Buchanin refrained from going that far, then hated herself more for the relief his restraint brought her. The response he read from her made the young man reconsider, the hand rose back to her arm to trace new chills.
"That is another thing I didn't know before. Magister lore doesn't come down to us mere mortals very often," he said, his gray orbs almost luminous as he looked into her eyes again. She snorted softly at his characterization.
"What about you? Do you learn another weapon after you master the halberd? You guards have everyone's lives in your hands, and we citizens know next to nothing about how you guys do things."
Buchanin's smile grew for a few moments at her question, before he became engrossed in tracing her neck and jaw bone with his gentle finger. His touch was becoming distracting. Deliciously distracting. She tilted her head so he had more surface to play with.
"No. We stick with one weapon usually, once a superior officer assigns us one after boot camp. After boot camp we take a deeper training with our weapon which makes us better trained than the common militia. After weapon skills are established, we go to a specialty school or officer training. Once we become an officer, they assign us to a unit where we drill and train our squads according to what our superior's think is necessary. If we do a good job then we either take another specialty and join an elite unit or go to another officer school to qualify for our next rank. Being assigned here in Bolloren means that I am probably going to go up the ranks soon; the best officer schools are here. After I become a captain, I'll be making enough money to buy a house and have it paid off in fifteen years."
What if he loses interest in me for being prudish? Leachelle found herself worrying. It just felt safer to talk. Why do I want safe? Romance is supposed to be about taking risks, isn't it? As Buchanin was describing his interest in being promoted to a higher rank, Leachelle strived for a boldness she did not quite feel. She took the half step that brought them into full frontal contact, looking up at him. Unfortunately she knew her face was reflecting her inner fears, not showing her willingness to be kissed.
Trailing off from his speech, the young officer studied her face, and slowly his free hand slid down to her waist. What he read did not repel him from her, rather that hand went to the small of her back. With gentle pressure he held her with that hand as he bent and brushed her lips with his. That contact was brief, allowing him to draw back and watch her for reactions for a free moment, before he descended for another taste. This next kiss lasted a couple of moments longer. Leachelle just couldn't quit relax into the whole experience. He's being gentle because of how scared I am. Can't he tell I want to be as bold as Mishiel and Echart...? Well not that bold, but a lot more carefree than I am now.
Buchanin's third kiss landed and lingered. After several moments his lips were just there, overly moist and inactive. She tried to liven it up, but this only caused his hand to wander down her tail bone into dangerous territory. The touch did not send thrills through her being, not even fear signals. This time there was a complete cessation of interest within Leachelle. He is a very bad kisser, she determined, feeling a complete disinterest in continuing to have her lips pressed to his. This must be what it's like to kiss a dead body. When she stepped back, the guard officer looked completely nonplussed, sensing that he had made some sort of mistake. Hurriedly, Leachelle took a sip of her drink, hiding her face until she could control her expression.
Looking at him, even bemused, she thought he was still handsome but the alchemy was gone; he was not that cool guy any more.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have moved that fast," he said with a wincing expression. As though timed specifically for her, one of the drummers began to tap out a rhythm on their shoulder strapped bongos.
"Alright everyone! We are going to start our next set with music straight from the islands of the southern sea! This is the song Rip Tide!" At first the drummer was all by himself, their hands a blur as they ranged from each of four drums suspended from his shoulders. What do I tell him? What can I say to let him down gently? Why has everything been a struggle tonight, even this?
Uncertain on how she should proceed, Leachelle raised her glass and took a gulp rather than a sip. Not the proper way to appreciate champagne at all, and it did not grant her the inspiration she needed. Beyond the guard's shoulder a mass exodus from the bar was occurring; people spilled upon the green before the stage and began dancing. The other drummer joined in, creating a counter beat with a beefier bass sound. Leaning her back against the wall she folded her arms around herself, holding her beverage out in front almost like a shield. I have to say something! she told herself with a near internal scream to force herself from her inaction.
Sighing heavily, Buchanin stepped in front of her but made sure there was a bit more distance between them.
"You are a very beautiful and elegant young woman, which made me... a bit greedy I suppose. Can you forgive me?" he asked, his eyes taking on the guilt of a puppy just learning it was not supposed to piddle in the house. At one time, having him call her beautiful or elegant would have thrilled Leachelle, now those compliments just made her wince on the inside. Her thinking process did not clear either. "A girlfriend with ties to the palace would have definitely gotten me noticed by my superior officers." That admission made that dark something inside her rear up; that part of herself that had punished Taleen. Visions from the Flaming Spirits made her see herself tossing Buchanin into the wall or over the fence with her wand.
One good thing did happen, the anger did clear her uncertainties away.
"My problem was wanting to force romance into my life. I guess I wasn't quite as ready as I thought," she said in deadpan, all the while daring him to contradict her with the way she bored into his eyes with her look; her urge for violence simmering just at her edge of awareness. His reaction did send her a shock as potent as her need to lash out had.
"I thought I could force it too, that I could get a great girl and get a step up in life at the same time. I'm not as smooth as Echart or a lot of the other junior officers, not as good looking or... or confident. It is hard to measure up with others when you're trying to get noticed. I never quite hit the mark, even with you."
For the first time that night, she felt like Buchanin was being starkly open with her. Honest and truthful. In that instant her urges departed, banished by what felt like respect. Leachelle still did not like that he had wanted to use her, or her position from her father's rank to propel his career. Yet she saw his courage in the way he had just opened up and let the truth out. For the first time she knew she had earned certain footing with this man. Buchanin was now an understood quantity, she knew how he thought; she knew where his pitfalls and quagmires were so she could avoid ensnarement. Swirling her champagne Leachelle let the bubbles tickle her nose as she allowed this moment to steep.
"If you can maintain this level of honesty, you might be able to do work for my father. He is the head of the war magister's for all of Bolloren. That might get you noticed by your superiors,' she said, withdrawing from the bouquet of her drink.
At first Buchanin's eyes went wide.
"The Wild Rose is your father?" he asked, intimidation working through his eyes. Taking a larger sip than normal, she drew air across her tongue unleashing the hidden flavors of the champagne again. His expression calmed and he watched her with interest, possibly wondering at this change in his fortunes.
"I may be able to bring you to his attention, make an introduction. It will be up to you whether you mess it up or be of service to him." Alcohol fumes teased the back of her nostrils in the very trailing end of flavors from the drink, seeming to ride up directly into her brain.
I've drank too much too soon, I think. I might have just made myself a little tipsy. This is the Burning Spirits curse on skinny girls like me, it only takes one drink to get me loosened up. Two drinks will give me the unstoppable giggles or make me a chatter box.
"That is more than I deserve, but I won't turn the gesture away." After Buchanin made that statement he held his hand out, as if they were making an agreement. At first she did not know what to do, but eventually she uncrossed her free hand and took his digits for a firm businesslike handshake. "I'd rather have caught your fancy, but I can live with a friendship." Once again the soldier came across as sincere, and his sentiment pleased Leachelle. Maybe I'll find a guy who does like skinny girls. I can't make a mistake like this again.
After that last compliment Buchanin asked her if she liked volunteering for the Daughters of the Word. As Mishiel and Echart whirled into the dance, Leachelle and Buchanin conversed, sipping at their drinks. After that he asked her to dance some more. This time around she had more fun, as there were no internal pressures nagging at her mind. After some time Leachelle wondered how Mishiel was faring. Glancing about she saw the other young woman and her boyfriend near the door to the club. A DOW server was handing a note off to Echart at the moment. Without opening the paper, both Mishiel and Echart raised their eyes and looked directly at her.
What is that all about? Leachelle wondered as the two then bent over the paper as the blond officer unfolded it. Frustratingly several other dancers moved between her and the couple's mysterious behavior. Her last glimpse of the couple saw the two in some sort of heated exchange or debate, still by the door.
"What other things do you do, other than work and volunteer with DOW?" Buchanin asked, as he jerkily tried to match her dance steps. She smiled a little to cover having to think.
"I guess I like riding horses," she answered after a moment. "I don't get to do it often enough, since all the horses in the palace belong to King Uldarnan. The stable master needs several hours in order to grant permission to borrow one, and they're strict on enforcing a time limit with the mount when you do get one."
Wow, now that I think about it, volunteering with the Daughters has cut into my riding time. I haven't rode in or around the city since last summer. This realization made Leachelle equally cognizant that she also had not been keeping up on riding fashion either. What were the ladies wearing when they rode nowadays? Spring usually brought out a lot of fresh fashions for every activity.
"Have you ever ridden the Alren fields east of the town? It almost looks like the great plains to the north with grasslands almost as far as the eye can see." Somehow Buchanin lost a step telling her this, she almost smiled in how awkward he looked trying to mend his foot work. Fortunately the soldier was rescued when Mishiel and Echart invaded their little place on the club's grass.
Looking more pleased with himself than normal, Echart made an announcement.
"I got us in, but we only have twenty minutes in the cellar. We'll have to be quick about it." This was not welcome news to Leachelle, she felt her face fall into lines of worry. She still was not convinced she should put on this demonstration of her abilities. Buchanin straightened and offered her his arm, smiling at the entertainment he thought was ahead. At the same time, fox faced Mishiel slid by the young man to take Leachelles arm, Echart placed a hand on Buchanin's chest, halting him from his endeavor. Pulling her before the young men, Mishiel began to lead their entourage to the back door.
The last time Leachelle had seen this expression on the other girl's face was when Mishiel had proposed listening in on the other Daughters of the Word volunteers, hungry and hard.
"I've only seen you smack bugs around and crack crates open. I know you can do more than those things." It's going to be okay, she told herself. After all, I've been pushing my skills and experimenting at home when no one is around. I'm not supposed to do that either, but I do.
"I'll show you some stuff, but I'm not going to do anything too flashy. The last thing any of us want is to get caught doing unsanctioned magic. Not even claiming that I was tipsy or drunk would stop any of us from some form of punishment. You guys will be in just as much trouble as I will," she warned
A few feet from the door, Mishiel leaned over and whispered in her ear.
"Of course there's another use we can put the cellar too, if you want," the girl said, holding her arm closer so that it was hard for Leachelle to get context clues from those sweet features.
"What? What do you mean?" her question came as they entered the officer's hall. The doorway down was still blocked off by strings of carnations and those glittering disks. Echart had Buchanin pose in the door to the outside, then he made the girls give way so he could reach for the cellar door's handle.
Nervous, Leachelle looked around in the bar. One Daughter of the Word server was holding a bucket for a woman wearing a captain's uniform, who was gasping weakly after throwing up into that bucket from a seat by the wall. The coat checker/bar tender was stuffing tobacco in a pipe near the street side door, obviously intent on going out for a smoke. The man threw her a knowing wink, which disturbed Leachelle.
"Could you boys give us a couple of minutes alone? Leachelle and I have something to discuss. It won't take us long, I promise," Mishiel said, running her free hand down Echart's forearm. The blond officer's grin grew, and it too had a knowing cast too it. Buchanin looked as bemused as Leachelle herself felt.
Reaching over the strands of flowers, Echart opened the door then held the decorations up so Mishiel and she could slip under. Wooden steps led down to a dim area below, crates and barrels could barely be made out at the end of the steep incline that delved fifteen feet down; the floor seemed to be concrete. With more confidence than Leachelle herself could muster, Mishiel took each step at a trot, a merry giggle trailing after. Hesitantly she took each wooden plank, trying to see more of the cellars environment, Mishiel grinning up at her, swaying to the muted strains of the music above.
"What is going on?" she asked.
Instead of answering, the girl held a finger over her lips then encouraged Leachelle to hurry up with a beckoning wave. When she reached the dirt covered concrete, Mishiel whispered to her.
"They might be able to hear, shhh. Follow me." The space under and around the staircase was stacked with crates from scores of distilleries. Along the eastern and western wall were pyramids of stacked wine or beer barrels. Stretching to the north in four rows were wine racks, two racks abutting the west and east wall; the spaces between the inner racks was very narrow. A lit lantern was hidden in the spaces beyond those bottles of ensconced wine, but the vague light hinted at a small room, more towers of crates, and more shadowy nooks that she did not like seeing.
Taking her by the arm again, Mishiel started to move toward those mysterious back spaces. This time Leachelle held back, allowing the contact to be broken.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked, unsure why she was having these misgivings she had. The smell of niter suffused the over all dusty scent of this underground place, which did not help ease her fears.
"You said you wanted some privacy to do this," Mishiel answered, a look of worry coming and going over her delicate mien. Trepidation slowing her steps she followed Mishiel between dust covered bottles walking sideways as there was so little space.
"Okay, you don't have to do a magic show for us, but if you and Buchanin want to... know each other a bit better, there is a cot back here. Echart and I can leave you two alone if you want," her friend said, a sly smile lighting those fox like features.
Shocked, Leachelle felt herself shaking her head not only to deny the suggestion but to also negate that those words had ever been spoken.
"No, no. That won't be- That's a worse idea than doing unsanctioned magic," she said, gaining control of herself. How can some people be so casual about sex. Does the act erode people's common sense or is Mishiel not as decent as I thought? Near the end of the wine racks, she could see somewhat into the little room at the back of the cellar. To the left of the little box of a space was several stacks of crates, few of which were uniform. The door was only slightly open revealing the foot of a single bed. Though neatly made, the quilt work blanket on top had not seen itself washed in this decade. The idea of anyone getting intimate on or under such an offensively dirty covering made Leachelle feel squeamish. An empty crate with a dirty shot glass acted as some sort of table or storage rack just beyond the little bed. She could not see the lantern that was providing....
That light gave three short stutters then went out, plunging Leachelle and Mishiel into utter darkness. The disreputable clandestine uses this cellar was used for had already set Leachelle felling negatively against this space, so when the inpenetrable black descended she gave a little squeak. Hand darting for her wand, she strained to hear the imagined cutpurses and never-do-wells who reputedly frequented such places moving in on her.
"Can you make a light with your wand?" Mishiel half asked half demanded, her voice tight. Leachelle finished withdrawing the mahogany wand from an inner dress pocket.
Pulling threads and ribbons of power, she began to weave them into a hollow ball; the ends of those streamers coming back upon themselves then set into motion. Setting the ball at the tip of her wand she enticed her weaving to flow faster and faster. After achieving a speed no Human could physically achieve, her woven ball began to glow with a bluish white color, the light slowly growing and achieving a stronger brightness. Mishiel was now facing her, those wide narrow eyes glued to the ball of light. The girl licked her lips, then her hand darted out. With considerable strength Mishiel ripped the wand from her hand, so strong was the pull that Leachelle was pulled stumbling into the other girl. Instead of going instantly dark, Leachelle still seemed to have a connection to the magic of the wand; though the weaves began to slow and the ball began to shrink upon itself. How...? she began to wonder, the magic should have ceased when contact had been broken.
With a grunt Mishiel threw the magic node back and eastward even as she skipped away from Leachelle. Before the light winked out, the wand clattered atop the wine rack against the eastern wall. Behind Leachelle and before her, she could hear crates being shifted.
"Last week you said something kind of ironic," Mishiel said, her voice moving away from Leachelle. "You said every where you go Taleen has been there first. She and I have been friends for a long time now." From behind the magister initiate illumination flared to life, throwing her shadow over Mishiel who was retreating into the little room. Spinning about, her eyes beheld a dark haired young man of middling height.
This stranger was holding up a lantern, but Leachelle felt her attention go to Phinder Tugg as he stepped from behind the middle west side wine rack. The piece of amber inset into his black leather arm bracer was spilling out a coil of magic. Another light source bloomed behind her, but it was the voice of her nemesis Taleen that spun Leachelle back around.
"Tables have turned, you tight ass bitch!" Just as her eyes met Taleen's rage bulging blue orbs, the platinum blond girl raised her arm with a lash dangling from her talismanic ring. Next to Taleen was a young man Leachelle had never seen before; wide eyed, Mishiel peeked her head around the door frame of the little room and it's dirty bed. Screaming her hatred, Taleen's lash struck, cutting the sleeve of Leachelle's dress and her arm below when she used that arm to ward her face.
Leachelle's first instinct was to run, she turned about just in time to have Phinder's energy whip strike her in the midriff. While his attack did not cut her, it still hurt, doubling her over and making her stumble. While she was getting hit, the braids of magic passed through the wine and wine racks. Taleen's next strike hit her on the right side of Leachelle's face from cheek to ear. Blood welled out of the cut; Phinder's next strike felt like a horse kick to her left leg; having her lower limb knocked out from her already off balanced stance caused Leachelle to fall. A cry of rage tore from Taleens throat as Phinder sneered with heat in his eyes. The poof haired boy's lash thudded into her body with the weight of a club, while the platinum blond cut her with every strike; her coat and dress parting at each knife like stroke.
Too vulnerable under the dual lights held up by the other two young men, Leachelle rolled into a ball trying to guard her head with arms and hands. Her own screams blended with her nemesis' frenzied shrieks, yet the sound did not seem to be penetrating to the officer's club above. No one was breaking the door down to come to her rescue, Buchanin should have been close enough to hear this tumult. With the force of certainty an idea entered Leachelle's head; she was going to die in this squalid little basement. Fear and horror made her reach out blindly, her arms and hands welted and cut.
Raw voiced, Leachelle's cries started to sound dim against Taleen's imprecations.
"How do you like this! This is how it feels to be helpless...!" the blond taunted between grunts of effort and screams of utter spite. Back shredded, blood dripping down her flanks and buttocks, Leachelle reached blindly, afraid of the death coming for her. Already there was a darkness nibbling at the edge of her vision, which she feared as much as she dreaded the whips abusing her. The darkness advanced making it seem she was peering at Phinder's lantern bearer through a tube, the man's manic grin reminding her of the yearly circus clowns. If I had my wand I would weave a shield like this, a detached inner voice calmly intoned. She felt the internal workings she would have made to make to weave such a ward, imagining the event as her vision all but shunted out the waking world. A weave of air... I could punch the cellar door, and maybe Buchanin would hear and rescue me.... Leachelle's imaginary world seemed to block off any further torments her flesh was receiving. Yet the tunnel collapsed bringing naught but darkness.... Boom...! Am I dying...?
"I think the Daughters made a good decision in buying and renovating the old community center. This officer's club is too tiny for an event like this," she observed.
"Why doesn't the DOW just rent time in the new community center?" Buchanin asked, craning his head down her way. He felt her shrug, her narrow shoulder against his ribs.
"The Daughters of the Word's council does not get along with the community center's owners. Politics among the nobles," Mishiel muttered as she turned to tug Echart over to the bar's wall a few feet away.
When they got there, Mishiel pulled Echart's head down, the light in her eyes could only be called wanton. Leachelle immediately looked away as the pair began to kiss, his hand cupping the back of her friends dress. She found Buchanin grinning at the two. Why does he like what they are doing? What they are doing should only be done in private, not out here in front of all these strangers. Am I just a prude? What if Buchanin wants me to act and be the same way? Her heart began to thud in alarm when the soldier did look down at her. Secretly she would have been thrilled if Buchanin was kissing and touching her that way, but not out in the open like this.
"I didn't know about the politics going on with the Daughters and other nobles," she said hoping she was distracting the young officer from the type of thoughts the lovers may have been implanting in his head.
Folding around her, so that they were now in a face to face hug, Buchanin started a slow penguin waddle that was forcing her toward the back wall. Alarm bells began to ring in her mind, though his walk was gentle and could have been easily resisted. Oh please Lords of Light and Life, don't let the Burning Spirits be influencing Buchanin's thoughts! Please, oh please, no!
"This is just the information I need to know," he said grinning down at her. Intrigued despite her immediate fears, her expression coaxed him to reveal more. "Being uprooted from Alren and being planted here in Bolloren means I'm behind on knowing all the politics in this city. An officer has to know what the nobles are doing, what they back or oppose, who supports us guards, and who wants our city state to be vulnerable."
Her back came up against the wall at that moment, meaning she no longer had time to counter being moved. Yet it was nice the way he was holding her, it felt safe and warm... so far.
"Just the nobles? What about knowing what the artifact level magisters are thinking and doing? They are also tied into the politics of Bolloren and rival city states." His eyebrows rose as his expression changed from hungry to considering.
"That helps. In Alren we discount the magister's. We only have a couple of artifact wielders and they are both cowards hiding away in their tax payer funded mansions. All us guard from Alren treat them as a joke, they don't matter to us." Buchanin's admission was startling to Leachelle. Would he think my father was a joke if he met him? His lips brushed her forehead, oh so gently....
Bearing a round tray, Lady Shashaw pressed through the doorway. The young noble woman's advent felt more like a rescue to Leachelle, as though Shashaw was the cavalry riding down slavers at this critical moment. Reluctantly, Buchanin backed away turning to ready himself for his drink. Echart and Mishiel also parted, both of them straightening their clothing from the light mussing that had occurred. Her grin having grown with delight, Lady Shashaw presented their drinks on her tray.
"I love spring, all the lovers come out," she said unabashedly. Leachelle blinked, having assumed the noble woman would have been scandalized rather then delighted. By the Light, I am a prude!
Three wine glasses full of bubbling champagne and an intermezzo style shot glass that had a stem and foot sat upon the tray; apple green schnapps filled that odd little drinking vessel.
Avarice on his face, Echart's hand darted for his schnapps. Buchanin gestured for Leachelle to take her beverage before he even reached, which gave Mishiel time to gather a champagne first. "We have several servers wandering the dance floor. When you're done with your drinks, please hand the glasses off to one of them instead of setting them on the grass. We want our donations to serve soldiers, not replace glasses and mugs," Lady Shashaw stated with a twinkle in her eye. With that the tiny noble girl moved off to take another order. Echart, who had just downed his drink was left holding his glass, not fast enough to place it on the DOW volunteer's tray.
Tilting her glass Leachelle watched the bubbles for a second, the straw colored beverage did not have the fizz of a fresh off the ice bottle.
"Hmm, this bottle has been open a few minutes," she stated. "Still chilled though." She swirled her glass then put it too her nose. There was a hint of stewed fruit mixed with the memory of autumn leaves, fresh fallen. Her glass was already at her lip when Leachelle opened her eyes and found her friends watching her. She couldn't help but smile as she took her first sip, they seemed mystified by the ritual she was conducting. The body was somewhere between a dry wine and a fruity wine, but diffused by the explosion of bubbles on tongue and palate. A hint of alcohol acidity made it hard to differentiate whether the champagne had a fruity background or a berry base. The grape was subtle behind the earthy loam like hints that finished the taste.
Mishiel tilted her head, her eyes drawn up with an unspoken question, as Leachelle finally swallowed her sample. "This is a Bolloren produced champagne. Landseean champagne doesn't have any berry like hints in it's flavor." Buchanin drew away giving Leachelle a skeptical eye.
"You got all that from a sip? How?" Indicating Echart she gave her answer.
"He had it somewhat right. Champagne is wine with extra bubbles, which means you have to appreciate it like you would a wine. Champagne is harder to read, but the experience is very similar and adds to the enjoyment." Mishiel cocked her eyebrow, and began to test what she had just learned. Shrugging first, Buchanin also began to swirl his beverage before setting his nose over the glass rim.
The line to the door had become very short, but the line coming out had stopped being a trickle and was now a continuous stream of people. Even some of the band's members were back on stage, conversing in their seats.
"The bubbles tickle," Mishiel complained, before her brow furrowed. "Oh." The girl had just found the hints hidden in the scent, just as Buchanin drew back with raised eyebrows. Taking another sip she continued to watch Buchanin and Mishiel discover their inner enomania. While Mishiel was drawing breath over tongue with her first sip, her eyes closed at the symphony of flavors and sensations; a beatific smile preceded those lovely eyes fluttering back open. Meanwhile Echart was watching everyone like a child who had been excluded from the big kid games.
Taking pity on him, Leachelle offered her glass for Echart to try true champagne tasting. His eyes narrowed a first as if he thought she was up to some trick, but hesitantly he reached for the drink. With gesture alone she corrected the blond young man's angle of tilt and swirl. Like Mishiel, his nose twitched from the fizz as he inhaled the vine wrought bouquet. Ah ha, he's catching on, she thought with a bit of vindication. A full sense of accomplishment hit her when his eyebrows rose as he drew breath over his first sip.
"Is this something you learned in the palace?" Mishiel asked at the same time that Buchanin fired his own inquiry her way.
"Where did you learn this?"
Hoping Buchanin would put his arm around her again, she leaned into the young soldier as he and Mishiel grinned at each other's timing. The arm brought warmth and tingles when he draped it around Leachealle.
"My grandfather on my mother's side owns and runs a vineyard out by Rularic Falls. My mother grew up helping him, she knew every aspect of the process. Growing the grapes, pressing, mixing, fermentation, bottling, you name it, she knew it." Offering her glass back, Echart actually smiled Leachelle's way.
"I get it now. I always thought the sniffing and sipping was just pretension."
Buchanin's chuckle seemed to vibrate through Leachelle's shoulder compressed to his chest
"Is it pretension or sophistry?" Everyones grin grew at that.
"It would only be sophistry if there wasn't anything backing it up. But now that we know what's up, we are all just a lot more pretentious." Mishiel stated, bumping her hip into Echart's thigh. The cavalry officer wrapped his arms around Mishiel from behind just before he bent and began to nibble at her neck. Again Leachelle found herself disturbed by the feral light that entered her friend's eyes, a carnal look that was both primal and immediate. Buchanin's arm slightly tightened around her, causing fear and longing to send chills up her spine.
Please don't! Please don't, Leachelle thought, even as she wondered how Buchanin's lips would feel on her neck. Instead of a demand for intimacy, the halbadier officer moved to face her with a raised glass.
"Do you have any more tips or lessons that would help me be more presentable to a lady like you?" he asked, his voice low so that it only carried to her. Is he making fun of me? she asked herself before actually reading his expression. With his glass held up for a toast, his eyes roved over her form with the same male hunger she had just seen in Echart's eyes. Pleasure and fear worked in equal measure, never canceling each other out in her core.
I wish I were as bold as Mishiel. I would kiss him if I were. Not really knowing how to respond, she just chimed her glass rim against his.
"You are doing just fine, soldier," she said. Immediately she worried if her words were too neutral, that she wasn't giving him the right signals. She just didn't know what signals she should give, though. Does he really like how I look, I don't really have the curves all the other girls have? Like Mishiel has. His bold gray eyes contacted hers again as he sipped his champagne, like he had received a toast. Sipping at her own drink, Leachelle agonized over how she should proceed.
He leaned a shoulder against the wall, cutting off all view of Mishiel craning her neck for further nibbling while sipping champagne with hedonistic abandon. Guiding her by her hip, Buchanin's strong hands encouraged her to lean with him; his grin grew with this success. His hand remained, heat flowing through her dress from the contact, they were only inches apart.
"So, how long before you test for your own relic?" Oh thank the Lords of Light and Life, she thought, feeling some of the pressure of her indecision lifting. Talking is safe. I can do that for now, but I do want to kiss some more. Just not like Echart and Mishiel are.
More as a gambit to buy time, Leachelle swirled her beverage then drew breath over her sip so she could catch the nuance of the champagne again.
"Three years. Magisters have a five year period of apprenticeship," she answered, eating up the way he was looking at her. Lifting his free hand he ran a finger down her cheek then down her neck, gentle and lingering while there. No lie, the contact felt good. His touch also bordered on the dangerous.
"Any idea what your specialty might be?" Buchanin's questions sounded casual, but his eyes also showed divided interest as he asked.
Though low, his voice sounded interested, yet there was a hunger in his eyes as he watched her skin pebble where his finger traced.
"I won't know until I meet my relic. My training talismanic level relic manifested electricity really well, but this one I have now excels at telekenetics and wind currents. We Human's aren't like the Faelora who can do anything with their relics, if they can form the right spell. That's why we have specialties that manifest when we bond with our instrument." His eyes shifted to her shoulder and arm, where he shifted his touch. His hand stroked gently down her thin limb, seeming to savor the contact as much as she did.
The hand went from elbow to hip, sliding back to lay along the profile of her bottom; not quite cupping. Inadvertently Leachelle stiffened, fearing that she was about to be groped. She hated herself a little bit at the disappointment that came when Buchanin refrained from going that far, then hated herself more for the relief his restraint brought her. The response he read from her made the young man reconsider, the hand rose back to her arm to trace new chills.
"That is another thing I didn't know before. Magister lore doesn't come down to us mere mortals very often," he said, his gray orbs almost luminous as he looked into her eyes again. She snorted softly at his characterization.
"What about you? Do you learn another weapon after you master the halberd? You guards have everyone's lives in your hands, and we citizens know next to nothing about how you guys do things."
Buchanin's smile grew for a few moments at her question, before he became engrossed in tracing her neck and jaw bone with his gentle finger. His touch was becoming distracting. Deliciously distracting. She tilted her head so he had more surface to play with.
"No. We stick with one weapon usually, once a superior officer assigns us one after boot camp. After boot camp we take a deeper training with our weapon which makes us better trained than the common militia. After weapon skills are established, we go to a specialty school or officer training. Once we become an officer, they assign us to a unit where we drill and train our squads according to what our superior's think is necessary. If we do a good job then we either take another specialty and join an elite unit or go to another officer school to qualify for our next rank. Being assigned here in Bolloren means that I am probably going to go up the ranks soon; the best officer schools are here. After I become a captain, I'll be making enough money to buy a house and have it paid off in fifteen years."
What if he loses interest in me for being prudish? Leachelle found herself worrying. It just felt safer to talk. Why do I want safe? Romance is supposed to be about taking risks, isn't it? As Buchanin was describing his interest in being promoted to a higher rank, Leachelle strived for a boldness she did not quite feel. She took the half step that brought them into full frontal contact, looking up at him. Unfortunately she knew her face was reflecting her inner fears, not showing her willingness to be kissed.
Trailing off from his speech, the young officer studied her face, and slowly his free hand slid down to her waist. What he read did not repel him from her, rather that hand went to the small of her back. With gentle pressure he held her with that hand as he bent and brushed her lips with his. That contact was brief, allowing him to draw back and watch her for reactions for a free moment, before he descended for another taste. This next kiss lasted a couple of moments longer. Leachelle just couldn't quit relax into the whole experience. He's being gentle because of how scared I am. Can't he tell I want to be as bold as Mishiel and Echart...? Well not that bold, but a lot more carefree than I am now.
Buchanin's third kiss landed and lingered. After several moments his lips were just there, overly moist and inactive. She tried to liven it up, but this only caused his hand to wander down her tail bone into dangerous territory. The touch did not send thrills through her being, not even fear signals. This time there was a complete cessation of interest within Leachelle. He is a very bad kisser, she determined, feeling a complete disinterest in continuing to have her lips pressed to his. This must be what it's like to kiss a dead body. When she stepped back, the guard officer looked completely nonplussed, sensing that he had made some sort of mistake. Hurriedly, Leachelle took a sip of her drink, hiding her face until she could control her expression.
Looking at him, even bemused, she thought he was still handsome but the alchemy was gone; he was not that cool guy any more.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have moved that fast," he said with a wincing expression. As though timed specifically for her, one of the drummers began to tap out a rhythm on their shoulder strapped bongos.
"Alright everyone! We are going to start our next set with music straight from the islands of the southern sea! This is the song Rip Tide!" At first the drummer was all by himself, their hands a blur as they ranged from each of four drums suspended from his shoulders. What do I tell him? What can I say to let him down gently? Why has everything been a struggle tonight, even this?
Uncertain on how she should proceed, Leachelle raised her glass and took a gulp rather than a sip. Not the proper way to appreciate champagne at all, and it did not grant her the inspiration she needed. Beyond the guard's shoulder a mass exodus from the bar was occurring; people spilled upon the green before the stage and began dancing. The other drummer joined in, creating a counter beat with a beefier bass sound. Leaning her back against the wall she folded her arms around herself, holding her beverage out in front almost like a shield. I have to say something! she told herself with a near internal scream to force herself from her inaction.
Sighing heavily, Buchanin stepped in front of her but made sure there was a bit more distance between them.
"You are a very beautiful and elegant young woman, which made me... a bit greedy I suppose. Can you forgive me?" he asked, his eyes taking on the guilt of a puppy just learning it was not supposed to piddle in the house. At one time, having him call her beautiful or elegant would have thrilled Leachelle, now those compliments just made her wince on the inside. Her thinking process did not clear either. "A girlfriend with ties to the palace would have definitely gotten me noticed by my superior officers." That admission made that dark something inside her rear up; that part of herself that had punished Taleen. Visions from the Flaming Spirits made her see herself tossing Buchanin into the wall or over the fence with her wand.
One good thing did happen, the anger did clear her uncertainties away.
"My problem was wanting to force romance into my life. I guess I wasn't quite as ready as I thought," she said in deadpan, all the while daring him to contradict her with the way she bored into his eyes with her look; her urge for violence simmering just at her edge of awareness. His reaction did send her a shock as potent as her need to lash out had.
"I thought I could force it too, that I could get a great girl and get a step up in life at the same time. I'm not as smooth as Echart or a lot of the other junior officers, not as good looking or... or confident. It is hard to measure up with others when you're trying to get noticed. I never quite hit the mark, even with you."
For the first time that night, she felt like Buchanin was being starkly open with her. Honest and truthful. In that instant her urges departed, banished by what felt like respect. Leachelle still did not like that he had wanted to use her, or her position from her father's rank to propel his career. Yet she saw his courage in the way he had just opened up and let the truth out. For the first time she knew she had earned certain footing with this man. Buchanin was now an understood quantity, she knew how he thought; she knew where his pitfalls and quagmires were so she could avoid ensnarement. Swirling her champagne Leachelle let the bubbles tickle her nose as she allowed this moment to steep.
"If you can maintain this level of honesty, you might be able to do work for my father. He is the head of the war magister's for all of Bolloren. That might get you noticed by your superiors,' she said, withdrawing from the bouquet of her drink.
At first Buchanin's eyes went wide.
"The Wild Rose is your father?" he asked, intimidation working through his eyes. Taking a larger sip than normal, she drew air across her tongue unleashing the hidden flavors of the champagne again. His expression calmed and he watched her with interest, possibly wondering at this change in his fortunes.
"I may be able to bring you to his attention, make an introduction. It will be up to you whether you mess it up or be of service to him." Alcohol fumes teased the back of her nostrils in the very trailing end of flavors from the drink, seeming to ride up directly into her brain.
I've drank too much too soon, I think. I might have just made myself a little tipsy. This is the Burning Spirits curse on skinny girls like me, it only takes one drink to get me loosened up. Two drinks will give me the unstoppable giggles or make me a chatter box.
"That is more than I deserve, but I won't turn the gesture away." After Buchanin made that statement he held his hand out, as if they were making an agreement. At first she did not know what to do, but eventually she uncrossed her free hand and took his digits for a firm businesslike handshake. "I'd rather have caught your fancy, but I can live with a friendship." Once again the soldier came across as sincere, and his sentiment pleased Leachelle. Maybe I'll find a guy who does like skinny girls. I can't make a mistake like this again.
After that last compliment Buchanin asked her if she liked volunteering for the Daughters of the Word. As Mishiel and Echart whirled into the dance, Leachelle and Buchanin conversed, sipping at their drinks. After that he asked her to dance some more. This time around she had more fun, as there were no internal pressures nagging at her mind. After some time Leachelle wondered how Mishiel was faring. Glancing about she saw the other young woman and her boyfriend near the door to the club. A DOW server was handing a note off to Echart at the moment. Without opening the paper, both Mishiel and Echart raised their eyes and looked directly at her.
What is that all about? Leachelle wondered as the two then bent over the paper as the blond officer unfolded it. Frustratingly several other dancers moved between her and the couple's mysterious behavior. Her last glimpse of the couple saw the two in some sort of heated exchange or debate, still by the door.
"What other things do you do, other than work and volunteer with DOW?" Buchanin asked, as he jerkily tried to match her dance steps. She smiled a little to cover having to think.
"I guess I like riding horses," she answered after a moment. "I don't get to do it often enough, since all the horses in the palace belong to King Uldarnan. The stable master needs several hours in order to grant permission to borrow one, and they're strict on enforcing a time limit with the mount when you do get one."
Wow, now that I think about it, volunteering with the Daughters has cut into my riding time. I haven't rode in or around the city since last summer. This realization made Leachelle equally cognizant that she also had not been keeping up on riding fashion either. What were the ladies wearing when they rode nowadays? Spring usually brought out a lot of fresh fashions for every activity.
"Have you ever ridden the Alren fields east of the town? It almost looks like the great plains to the north with grasslands almost as far as the eye can see." Somehow Buchanin lost a step telling her this, she almost smiled in how awkward he looked trying to mend his foot work. Fortunately the soldier was rescued when Mishiel and Echart invaded their little place on the club's grass.
Looking more pleased with himself than normal, Echart made an announcement.
"I got us in, but we only have twenty minutes in the cellar. We'll have to be quick about it." This was not welcome news to Leachelle, she felt her face fall into lines of worry. She still was not convinced she should put on this demonstration of her abilities. Buchanin straightened and offered her his arm, smiling at the entertainment he thought was ahead. At the same time, fox faced Mishiel slid by the young man to take Leachelles arm, Echart placed a hand on Buchanin's chest, halting him from his endeavor. Pulling her before the young men, Mishiel began to lead their entourage to the back door.
The last time Leachelle had seen this expression on the other girl's face was when Mishiel had proposed listening in on the other Daughters of the Word volunteers, hungry and hard.
"I've only seen you smack bugs around and crack crates open. I know you can do more than those things." It's going to be okay, she told herself. After all, I've been pushing my skills and experimenting at home when no one is around. I'm not supposed to do that either, but I do.
"I'll show you some stuff, but I'm not going to do anything too flashy. The last thing any of us want is to get caught doing unsanctioned magic. Not even claiming that I was tipsy or drunk would stop any of us from some form of punishment. You guys will be in just as much trouble as I will," she warned
A few feet from the door, Mishiel leaned over and whispered in her ear.
"Of course there's another use we can put the cellar too, if you want," the girl said, holding her arm closer so that it was hard for Leachelle to get context clues from those sweet features.
"What? What do you mean?" her question came as they entered the officer's hall. The doorway down was still blocked off by strings of carnations and those glittering disks. Echart had Buchanin pose in the door to the outside, then he made the girls give way so he could reach for the cellar door's handle.
Nervous, Leachelle looked around in the bar. One Daughter of the Word server was holding a bucket for a woman wearing a captain's uniform, who was gasping weakly after throwing up into that bucket from a seat by the wall. The coat checker/bar tender was stuffing tobacco in a pipe near the street side door, obviously intent on going out for a smoke. The man threw her a knowing wink, which disturbed Leachelle.
"Could you boys give us a couple of minutes alone? Leachelle and I have something to discuss. It won't take us long, I promise," Mishiel said, running her free hand down Echart's forearm. The blond officer's grin grew, and it too had a knowing cast too it. Buchanin looked as bemused as Leachelle herself felt.
Reaching over the strands of flowers, Echart opened the door then held the decorations up so Mishiel and she could slip under. Wooden steps led down to a dim area below, crates and barrels could barely be made out at the end of the steep incline that delved fifteen feet down; the floor seemed to be concrete. With more confidence than Leachelle herself could muster, Mishiel took each step at a trot, a merry giggle trailing after. Hesitantly she took each wooden plank, trying to see more of the cellars environment, Mishiel grinning up at her, swaying to the muted strains of the music above.
"What is going on?" she asked.
Instead of answering, the girl held a finger over her lips then encouraged Leachelle to hurry up with a beckoning wave. When she reached the dirt covered concrete, Mishiel whispered to her.
"They might be able to hear, shhh. Follow me." The space under and around the staircase was stacked with crates from scores of distilleries. Along the eastern and western wall were pyramids of stacked wine or beer barrels. Stretching to the north in four rows were wine racks, two racks abutting the west and east wall; the spaces between the inner racks was very narrow. A lit lantern was hidden in the spaces beyond those bottles of ensconced wine, but the vague light hinted at a small room, more towers of crates, and more shadowy nooks that she did not like seeing.
Taking her by the arm again, Mishiel started to move toward those mysterious back spaces. This time Leachelle held back, allowing the contact to be broken.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked, unsure why she was having these misgivings she had. The smell of niter suffused the over all dusty scent of this underground place, which did not help ease her fears.
"You said you wanted some privacy to do this," Mishiel answered, a look of worry coming and going over her delicate mien. Trepidation slowing her steps she followed Mishiel between dust covered bottles walking sideways as there was so little space.
"Okay, you don't have to do a magic show for us, but if you and Buchanin want to... know each other a bit better, there is a cot back here. Echart and I can leave you two alone if you want," her friend said, a sly smile lighting those fox like features.
Shocked, Leachelle felt herself shaking her head not only to deny the suggestion but to also negate that those words had ever been spoken.
"No, no. That won't be- That's a worse idea than doing unsanctioned magic," she said, gaining control of herself. How can some people be so casual about sex. Does the act erode people's common sense or is Mishiel not as decent as I thought? Near the end of the wine racks, she could see somewhat into the little room at the back of the cellar. To the left of the little box of a space was several stacks of crates, few of which were uniform. The door was only slightly open revealing the foot of a single bed. Though neatly made, the quilt work blanket on top had not seen itself washed in this decade. The idea of anyone getting intimate on or under such an offensively dirty covering made Leachelle feel squeamish. An empty crate with a dirty shot glass acted as some sort of table or storage rack just beyond the little bed. She could not see the lantern that was providing....
That light gave three short stutters then went out, plunging Leachelle and Mishiel into utter darkness. The disreputable clandestine uses this cellar was used for had already set Leachelle felling negatively against this space, so when the inpenetrable black descended she gave a little squeak. Hand darting for her wand, she strained to hear the imagined cutpurses and never-do-wells who reputedly frequented such places moving in on her.
"Can you make a light with your wand?" Mishiel half asked half demanded, her voice tight. Leachelle finished withdrawing the mahogany wand from an inner dress pocket.
Pulling threads and ribbons of power, she began to weave them into a hollow ball; the ends of those streamers coming back upon themselves then set into motion. Setting the ball at the tip of her wand she enticed her weaving to flow faster and faster. After achieving a speed no Human could physically achieve, her woven ball began to glow with a bluish white color, the light slowly growing and achieving a stronger brightness. Mishiel was now facing her, those wide narrow eyes glued to the ball of light. The girl licked her lips, then her hand darted out. With considerable strength Mishiel ripped the wand from her hand, so strong was the pull that Leachelle was pulled stumbling into the other girl. Instead of going instantly dark, Leachelle still seemed to have a connection to the magic of the wand; though the weaves began to slow and the ball began to shrink upon itself. How...? she began to wonder, the magic should have ceased when contact had been broken.
With a grunt Mishiel threw the magic node back and eastward even as she skipped away from Leachelle. Before the light winked out, the wand clattered atop the wine rack against the eastern wall. Behind Leachelle and before her, she could hear crates being shifted.
"Last week you said something kind of ironic," Mishiel said, her voice moving away from Leachelle. "You said every where you go Taleen has been there first. She and I have been friends for a long time now." From behind the magister initiate illumination flared to life, throwing her shadow over Mishiel who was retreating into the little room. Spinning about, her eyes beheld a dark haired young man of middling height.
This stranger was holding up a lantern, but Leachelle felt her attention go to Phinder Tugg as he stepped from behind the middle west side wine rack. The piece of amber inset into his black leather arm bracer was spilling out a coil of magic. Another light source bloomed behind her, but it was the voice of her nemesis Taleen that spun Leachelle back around.
"Tables have turned, you tight ass bitch!" Just as her eyes met Taleen's rage bulging blue orbs, the platinum blond girl raised her arm with a lash dangling from her talismanic ring. Next to Taleen was a young man Leachelle had never seen before; wide eyed, Mishiel peeked her head around the door frame of the little room and it's dirty bed. Screaming her hatred, Taleen's lash struck, cutting the sleeve of Leachelle's dress and her arm below when she used that arm to ward her face.
Leachelle's first instinct was to run, she turned about just in time to have Phinder's energy whip strike her in the midriff. While his attack did not cut her, it still hurt, doubling her over and making her stumble. While she was getting hit, the braids of magic passed through the wine and wine racks. Taleen's next strike hit her on the right side of Leachelle's face from cheek to ear. Blood welled out of the cut; Phinder's next strike felt like a horse kick to her left leg; having her lower limb knocked out from her already off balanced stance caused Leachelle to fall. A cry of rage tore from Taleens throat as Phinder sneered with heat in his eyes. The poof haired boy's lash thudded into her body with the weight of a club, while the platinum blond cut her with every strike; her coat and dress parting at each knife like stroke.
Too vulnerable under the dual lights held up by the other two young men, Leachelle rolled into a ball trying to guard her head with arms and hands. Her own screams blended with her nemesis' frenzied shrieks, yet the sound did not seem to be penetrating to the officer's club above. No one was breaking the door down to come to her rescue, Buchanin should have been close enough to hear this tumult. With the force of certainty an idea entered Leachelle's head; she was going to die in this squalid little basement. Fear and horror made her reach out blindly, her arms and hands welted and cut.
Raw voiced, Leachelle's cries started to sound dim against Taleen's imprecations.
"How do you like this! This is how it feels to be helpless...!" the blond taunted between grunts of effort and screams of utter spite. Back shredded, blood dripping down her flanks and buttocks, Leachelle reached blindly, afraid of the death coming for her. Already there was a darkness nibbling at the edge of her vision, which she feared as much as she dreaded the whips abusing her. The darkness advanced making it seem she was peering at Phinder's lantern bearer through a tube, the man's manic grin reminding her of the yearly circus clowns. If I had my wand I would weave a shield like this, a detached inner voice calmly intoned. She felt the internal workings she would have made to make to weave such a ward, imagining the event as her vision all but shunted out the waking world. A weave of air... I could punch the cellar door, and maybe Buchanin would hear and rescue me.... Leachelle's imaginary world seemed to block off any further torments her flesh was receiving. Yet the tunnel collapsed bringing naught but darkness.... Boom...! Am I dying...?