His body flew against the wall as the guard pushed him away with brutal force. Quent thought he heard something in his back crack and really hoped it wasn’t anything vital as he sank to the ground, his knees giving in on him. The guard picked him up again and pushed him against the cold stone of the hallway walls. Behind him his comrades were cheering him on.
“You fucking pussy.” The guard slapped his cheek with the back of his leather gloved hand and Quent remembered for the first time in years what real pain felt like. It felt like iron burning in his throat. It felt like frozen daggers digging into his skin. It felt terrible.
His feet were dangling as the guard kept him pushed against the wall. He supposed he really didn’t weigh a lot and kind of regretted it. A warm tear ran down his cheek involuntarily.
“You’re supposed to protect the prince? Even my grandmother would do a better job than a fucking roach like you.” The guard spat in his face.
Quent tried to think, but the pain was making it hard on him. He wasn’t used to situations like these. Never before had he gotten into an actual fight, at least, not one where the other had gotten the upper hand. Was he supposed to fight back? These men were guards too after all, and by the looks of them they didn’t possess a grain of magic. He couldn’t use his force against them, it wouldn’t be fair. Besides, he would probably get into some real trouble if he hurt a guard. They were supposed to be colleagues after all, and they shared the same purpose. Why did they need to beat him up if they were on the same side? He had just been trying to find his way back to the prince’s quarters after having practised his conjuration skills in one of the training yards. Even though the stars were out already and it was past midnight, he hadn’t had a chance to use his magic whole day and had thus decided to do some practising. He needed to stay sharp if he was to do this job well. But now he himself was in a rather tight situation and he simply didn’t know what to do.
“Cut him Haenk! See if his blood is black like they say!”
The swishing of the blade was incredibly fast. Quent felt something hot trickle down his cheek, followed by a sharp pain where the knife had cut him. These guys were serious, and here he was, frozen by his conflicted mind.
“It’s red,” the guard that was still holding him up said, looking over his shoulder. Quent knew this was a chance. He punched the guy in the stomach with all his force.
The man just turned his face back towards Quent’s. It was filled with disgust, his mouth slightly ajar as if he wanted to say something but disbelief was keeping him from doing so. This was bad. Real bad.
“I-I’m sorry...” Quent whimpered, but his voice was shut short by the guard’s hand pressing against his vocal cords. Fingers closed around his neck.
“You pig. Rot in hell. I’m going to kill you.”
Adding power to his words the guard tightened his grip with all the force he possessed. Quent couldn’t breathe. Choking sounds escaped his mouth. He felt a faint feeling rise to his brains as lack of oxygen caused black blurs to dance before his eyes.
He fell to the ground at the same time as the other men. He could discern a pair of brown leather boots with heels before he had to close his eyes in pain. Darkness embraced him and he accepted it gladly, ready to fall into the forgiving arms of unconsciousness.
“No.” He heard a female voice say as a magic force pulled him up to his legs and forced his eyes open.
In front of him were the guards, all on the ground, their bodies looking like discarded dolls. Quent recognised the woman whose force was keeping him up and was keeping down the others. She casually kicked one of the men and his limbs fell to the side with a thud, as if they had no muscles in them whatsoever. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” The sorceress Myriam said accusingly as she walked over the bodies towards Quent. “Are you some kind of masochist?”
“I...” Quent’s feet softly hit the ground and he immediately gained balance by the grace of the angry sorceress’s power.
“Why didn’t you use your magic?” She asked, kicking the guard who had been strangling Quent out of the way.
“I...”
“What ‘I’? What’s wrong with you? You came all the way here because you’re some special mage. You got the highest position any personal guard could get. And you let some random, testosterone soiled magicless prick choke you to death? What is the Archsorceress going to think of this when she sees the prince’s personal guard all bruised and beaten?”
“I...”
“Did you even consider what this would look like to everyone? What a disgrace you would bring the prince when you show up with your cheek cut open? You’re supposed to bleed for him, not for yourself!”
“I’m sorry!”
Quent was surprised at his own outburst. “I didn’t know what to do! I can’t possibly hurt the royal guards, I’m just a mage!”
The sorceress looked at him for a long time. Only now did he notice that her eyes were a bright green, almost feline, and that her hair was a deep ginger, long curls dancing around her like fire. She was resonating magic, a power stronger than any he had ever noticed in female mages before.
“What are you gaping at, you useless mage.” Her power left him instantly and he felt the urge to give in to sweet gravity, the pain in his body demanding it to rest.
He couldn’t though, she was right. He was a disgrace.
“You’re powerful,” she said, sounding almost accusingly. “I can feel it. So why didn’t you use your magic?”
“I didn’t know whether I was supposed to...”
The sorceress frowned. “You didn’t know whether you were supposed to?”
“Yes... I didn’t know if it was allowed...”
“You were being choked to death.”
“Yes, I know... I just...”
He felt utterly stupid in the eyes of the powerful sorceress, especially now that the guards who had harassed him were lying lifelessly on the ground. They weren’t dead. Just paralysed and unconscious. He could have done that, he had such power inn him too. So why hadn’t he?
“Show me your magic,” the woman commanded.
Quent looked at his hands. One had a bloodstain on it. He had subconsciously touched his cheek.
“Well? What are you waiting for?”
He didn’t know. With a movement of his hand and the willpower that was magic Quent pulled up a barrier in front of him. It was barely visible, sometimes just rippling like hot air.
The woman put her hand forward, meeting the barrier. He could feel the energy concentrated in her palm, demanding a way through the wall he had pulled up. He resisted with all of his might.
She lowered her hand and looked at him, calm, her expression serious but not grave. “That’s what I mean.”
Quent nodded. He understood. He was supposed to use his magic.
“Thank you...” he murmured. She had never told him how to adress her but she didn’t seem bothered about his lack of honorifics.
She just shook her head, the red curls softly waving with the motion. “Next time when you’re being killed just remember that you’re a magic wielder and are able to beat the shit out of someone.”
With a last shake of disbelief Myriam, the ‘real head’ of the royal guard, turned around and walked away, leaving Quent alone with a pile of unconscious bodies and a restless mind.
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