The Azimar Archives Book One- The Book of Death

Layle

Layle tried once more to scry on her mother, her wrists already aching and oozing blood from the effort.

There was no response.

Layle sighed, setting the half empty pitcher of water to rest on the stone floor of her cell. Perhaps she's sleeping.

Though if she had been simply sleeping, Layle would have still gotten a nice look of whatever the water in her mother's pitcher was reflecting.

Instead, no image had formed on the surface of her own pitcher, and Layle's magic had simply been blocked by something other than the arcane cuffs that lanced her wrists with every spell.

Mothlenor, Layle realized. She must be with him, and he is blocking my magic.

Layle pushed the images of Mothlenor abusing her mother out of her mind, rubbing nervously at her aching wrists, smearing blood along her arms as she did.

It was time to try again. The spell was difficult, the most difficult one that she had ever done. But the Matriarch had promised that if she could master it, Layle could use it to leave the castle. It was possible to even help Kall and the Matriarch escape the dungeons with her.

Layle focused, sending energy coursing through her body to rest at a spot just above her wrists. It was safer to store energy in the hands, where it could be controlled and directed easier, and where it was less likely to escape the body in unpredictable and dangerous ways. But directing the energy to her palms activated the cuffs, and she didn't want to bleed out while trying to master such a difficult spell.

Layle cast a quick glance around her cell, arms already tingling with the build up of energy. Closing her eyes, she pictured the cell in her mind's eye. She had done so enough times that she could count the number of stone blocks that encompassed the floor, just from memory alone. But a good memory wouldn't be enough.

Her arms ached with the energy she had accumulated. Her bones felt like they might splinter with the slightest movement.

With a quick prayer to the Great Ones, she dumped the energy from her arms through the cuffs to her hands and activated the spell she held firmly in her mind.

Pain seared through her wrists, causing her to gasp.

But for an instant, she was gone.

She collapsed to the floor, hitting her knee against the hard ground.

"Fuck." Layle cried, rubbing her injured knee and smearing fresh blood across the ragged remains of her filthy dress.

"Layle?" Kall's voice was weak and tired, barely audible from the adjacent room. "Did it work?"

Layle stood, stepping gingerly on her injured leg. It was fine, but she would have another large bruise soon. "I came out too high." Layle frowned, rubbing her wrists. "Again."

"But it worked?"

Layle surveyed her surroundings once more. Still the same cell, the same number of stone blocks lining the same floor. But she was a good three feet closer to the door than she had been a moment ago. "Yes, it worked."

"Good."

"And you? Are you alright?"

"I'll be fine." Kall's soft voice returned.

Layle shook her wrists, flicking small droplets of blood to the ground. "Alright, I'm going to try again." The first few days she had practiced the spell, she had always tried to stop the bleeding to her wrists before starting again, but she'd quickly realized that it was a wasted effort. They would just bleed again soon enough, why bother spending precious time stopping it between attempts?