Chapter 4 Ban
I learn within a day that Dima is a man of words,manywords. None of them proves to be useful, and I quickly begin wishing he were the type of person to keep thoughts inside his head instead of sharing.
He’s also in no rush for my torment. After taking my staff and storing it Gods knows where, he started speaking to Barty and going about his daily tasks. Despite his thrill to have me here, he doesn’t start trying to cut me apart and test my pain tolerance.
And once he does, he’s disappointed. The magic he has in place to keep me in the cavern is resistant to shadows and ice equally. It makes any hopes of escaping feel abysmal, and Barty is smart enough to stay a good distance away from me so I don’t snap on him.
Dima’s magic, though, his blades and his blue light, can pass through the barrier. It appears to be crafted from his own magic, but how he made it resilient to other types, I haven’t a clue.
“You’re strong, mage,” he says, days into my captivity. I’ve been here close to two weeks now, give or take. The time blurs together in a place without sun or moonlight, but I’m aware of the passage of time. Since sleep is something I rarely require, I get to watch his delusions more often than I would prefer.
Groaning, I glare as he pulls back the knife. His words from days ago still ring true:I want to see how much pain Death can withstand.He’s left marks, but nothing fatal. And I don’t believe anything he can conjure will kill me, but it sure hurts like a bitch.
Dima keeps his safety net in place, using his magic to move around the blades whenever he wishes to torment me. He tried shooting that lightning of his through the barrier once, which seemed to upset the magic in place. I almost got out, and he left me alone for two days to rebuild his reserves.
Which is curious, because I don’t have to recover for days on end when using a small amount of magic. Perhaps it’s not a finessed skill like he pretends; if his magic isn’t inherited, he’s forcing the power, and that always seems to end poorly.
“Don’t worry about the process,” Dima drones on, wiping his hands before dragging a sleeve across his brow. I can feel the wound he left in my shoulder, and when I grit my teeth and touch the spot my fingers come away black with blood. Yet, he’s the one looking tired. “We’ll get there.”
“And where exactly are we going?” I ask, unable to keep the snip out of my voice. “At this point, you’ll die before you get anything useful out of me. You don’t seem to have as much control over your power as you like to believe.”
The jab hits its mark, and a blue haze shadows the space behind Dima. For the most part, I seem to be the only living thing down here to hold his attention, and I’ve watched him gocosmicas I like to call it when his emotions get the best of him.
After forcing myself to stand, I pace toward the wooden grate and lean against the wall behind it, eyeing him through the slats. “Control isn’t your strong suit, wizard. Did you decide to scrounge your magic from nothing, or did your teacher simply lose interest? You lack finesse.”
He sneers, arching his hand over his head as he sends a volley of blue light toward me. Since the shadows and ice refuse to listen to me, I grit my teeth as the attack slams into me.
It’s not a cutting strike, and there’s no intent behind it, just frustration. Nothing slices or jabs into me, and the blow sends me teetering back a couple of steps.
If anything, I’m doing a good job of pissing him off. It’s not exactly the most self-serving form of entertainment, but seeing as Dima is capable of talking about little aside from himself I’m not getting anywhere fast. The wounds his magic bleeds hurt like a bitch, but they won’t prove fatal. We both know that.
I’m fully prepared to make another jab as we approach two weeks in this special hell, the anger burning in Dima’s eyes enticing me to keep poking the bear. But before the words can slip past my lips, I become distracted, eyeing the light appearing on his worktable.
Fuck me, he has a seeing stone of his own. I suppose it should be of little surprise since his mother had one, and they appear to be nobility.
Dima lets the blue magic dissipate around him, a groan slipping from his lips as he drags a hand across his face. The irritation in his eyes makes me smirk through the pain, and the other beings around me start to mumble among themselves. I’m pretty sure the various Flowerborne and other poor creatures are curious, just like me.
He barely looks at the stone as he waves a hand over it, causing the glow to solidify. “What is it now, Mother?”
“Mother? I thought we settled on Madame.”
Dima’s head snaps around, cheeks turning pink as he looks at whoever is on the other side. All my focus is on him, shifting around in my little cave to keep my eyes on his body even as he twists.
He mutters something I don’t catch, but the woman on the other side doesn’t share in his secrecy. “Relax, mage. I would never bring it up with the present company.”
Oh, curious. Who’s the female on the other side of the stone, since it isn’t Ysanna?
Dima clears his throat, and whatever secrets he’s trying to hide seem to disappear. “I wasn’t expecting you to reach out again. Is the deadline moving? Things have changed a bit on my end–”
“The deadline is shifted,” she says instead, and I strain to catch every word. An ally of Dima’s is more than likely an enemy of mine, but I want to see if I can pick out who he’s speaking to. It could be important for me later. “Things have escalated. Modred is dead.”
“Modred,” Dima says, his tone uncertain. “Modred, Modred is…”
“My nephew,” she snaps, her voice rising. “My sister Morgause is in tatters over the loss. Arthur’s focus has shifted.”
So, someone in or allied with Camelot. Mogause is about as familiar as Modred for me, and aside from Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, my memory of Camelot is vague.
“To what?” Dima asks curiously.
