CHAPTER 1

The smell of wood smoke. It always started with the smell of wood smoke. Usually next would be the heat of the sun; it had been midday when it happened. The bastards didn't even wait until nightfall. Next would be the screams, always the men. She never heard a woman scream, though she was certain there must have been… No. No time for that line of thought. The smoke was beginning to mingle with the blood, heavy and coppery. It was almost always the running next, the running and the hiding and the–

Celia awoke with a start and forced her body into stillness. Too much movement would draw the… draw the…

She sighed and looked around the perfectly ordinary room. Armor stand in the corner with her chest plate, mail, and greaves. Bed with just enough space for her to lay out flat. Cracked and dented mirror over a basin. Just a room above a tailor in the heart of New Gyr. The fires, the smoke, and the blood were just in her nightmares. Just as they had been for the last four years.

Tossing aside the cheap, thin blanket, Celia winced as her bare feet met the cold wood floor, and moved to the chest at the foot of the bed. Four years, she thought as she ran a brush through her shoulder-length blonde hair, tugging at some of the knots and tangles. Four years since I ran away. Shutting her eyes tight, she forced the memories back down into the dark part of her mind. They had their run of it during the night already. During the day, she had more important things to focus on.

She threw off her rough-spun cotton nightgown, rummaging through her drawers as she decided what to wear for the day. White would go well with her lightly tanned skin, the mark of brutal days spent training in the sword under the sun. The physique that four years of forging herself into a proper swordswoman had earned her might be enough to call her beautiful, or handsome at least. But being a warrior wasn’t all muscle and glory. She long since had inured herself to the fundamental truth of living by the blade:

Anyone who picked up a sword was going to get cut.

The thin gash along her right calf from a lesser demon’s lash was easy enough to ignore. The circle of warped, scarred flesh on her left shoulder, courtesy of an enchanted spear, was a bit harder. But what truly marked her was the scar along her face, from her left ear to the right of her mouth. People would shy away, thinking she was trouble the moment they saw it.

Slowly, gingerly, Celia reached up to touch the old scar and winced. It hadn’t hurt for years, and a priest had been on hand to seal the wound. Still, though, it was the mark of her initiation, the mark that gave her away as a warrior.

Shaking her head to clear it of such foolish woolgathering, she slipped on graying cotton panties followed by linen breeches. Wrapping a fresh bandage around her breasts to bind them, she slipped an off-white tunic over her hair, finishing with cheap – albeit sturdy – black boots. A splash of water from her jug and a quick wash with a rag later, and Celia belted on her sword and left to face the world.

Walking through the streets of New Gyr was an assault on the senses. The scent of fresh baked bread warred with horse manure, cries of temple chants mixed and mingled with drunken arguments, and above it all rose the deep thrum of active magic from the Mage Guild’s tower at the center of town. After fifteen minutes of shoving, pushing, and occasionally running, Celia arrived at the two story guild hall she belonged to.

The Ravenswood Company was, Celia considered, at least an honestly disreputable company. Sure, they would take shady jobs, but it would be the kind of shady that only annoyed the nobility. Not the kind of shady that left a heartbroken mother behind, or a lonely widow. At least, she didn't want to think they did that. She hadn’t seen any of it herself, and the Ravenswood Company had been the closest thing she had to friends for the last two years. She suppressed a smile as the thought brought memories of foul beasts slain and glories gathered. Best to keep an impassive mask there.

“What's on offer?” She called to the two mercenaries gathered at the closest table. Garrick and Matt, if memory served. The taller of the two – yes, his name was Garrick, she was certain – simply glanced at her before returning back to his plate.

“Eggs and a slice,” he grunted before shoveling a bite into his mouth. Matt simply shook his head as he turned to face Celia.

“Sorry for my idiot brother's appalling lack of manners,” he sighed. “If grease and salt aren't sounding good, there’s porridge with honey too.” Nodding at the far table laden with platters, he gave the blonde swordswoman a small apologetic smile.

He had been giving her that same smile, the same kindness, for months now. It wouldn't, couldn't lead anywhere, Celia insisted to herself. A smile returned would lead to… to…

She grabbed that thought and threw it with the rest. Shaking her head, she focused intently on the here and now, clearing her mind as she collected a bowl of porridge and returned to Garrick and Matt's table. She had barely begun to eat when a new group of mercenaries took the table next to theirs. Loudly.

“You're full of griffin shit!” A large man growled, his greataxe and tanned leathers marking him as having trained with the barbarians. He glared at his younger companion – well, the almost wispy elf looked younger, at least – and thumped the table with his fist. “King Ashlom isn't going to bend the knee to some gods-damned wizard!”

The slender elf heaved a long-suffering sigh. “I'm not saying victory for the Lord Sorcerer is assured, my friend,” he said softly in the light flowing accent of the elves. “However, the recent reports on the northern garrisons are worrying. Three hundred men and women vanished without a trace. No trace of magic and not a drop of blood?” The elf shook his head, taking a seat next to the larger human. “The picture it paints is mysterious indeed.”

Celia sighed and returned to her porridge, as watery and tepid as it was. The Lord Sorcerer, she thought sourly. He had arrived as if from nowhere eight months ago with a massive army, reports said. King Ashlom had called his banners, and now a massive army of his own, composed of conscripts from as far as Cerene, Astoria, and Cornon had been deployed against the wizard's. It had barely been enough, as both sides now appeared to be locked in stalemate.

Fantastic rumors had begun to crop up that claimed the Lord Sorcerer was an undead Archmage, or that he was an elder vampire, or a dragon taking human form. All he was to Celia was another vague danger, currently several hundred kilometers to the north. Finishing her bowl, she handed it to the kitchen dredge on duty before walking to the job board. Money wasn't tight for her at the moment, but it never hurt to be proactive about such things.

She ran her finger down the lists until she spotted a perfect distraction from the melancholy thoughts that had plagued her since she woke. A storehouse belonging to a merchant in a tucked away hamlet called Greensweald, the notice proclaimed, had been robbed by bandits the last two months. Always on the first of the month, and with the guards left clueless how they were doing it. Clueless, or in on it, Celia smirked, tugging the notice off its peg.

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Several hours later, Celia was mounted on a guild mare, heading toward Greensweald. The stench of New Gyr had been thankfully blown away by a mountain wind, so the swordswoman had the chance to enjoy the scenery on her ride. The distant mountains of the Valtans loomed far to the east, their snow-capped peaks glistening in the light. The deep forest of the Godswood rolled from their lower slopes, bordering the farmland and vale she was riding through. This far from other people, and without any clear danger on the long, flat road, Celia let her self-discipline ease just a tiny bit, taking in a deep breath of the clean mountain air and smiling.

The village wasn't hard to find. It had been visible for an hour by the time she got to it, owing to the flat terrain. The few farmers and woodworkers who greeted her were happy to direct her toward the clearing where the merchant had built his warehouse. Leaving the mare in the stables, Celia took a moment to prepare her gear. Her sword was sharpened, oils and potions arranged on her belt for ease of access, and the inscribed spell scroll she carried as a last resort was safely in its case at her hip. A bit of insurance against failure, against the whispered horror stories of young men and women who ended up captured by brigands and bandits. She had seen the contained spell work before. It was a quick and painless death for the caster, and if even a tenth of the stories were true, it was the preferred choice over being captured.

With her gear seen to, Celia scoped out the unassuming warehouse. There were two guards with cheap mail armor and a spear and shield each. They hadn't taken kindly to a mercenary snooping around, even less when she produced her writ of investigation. “Stuck up cunt,” one had muttered before resolutely ignoring her. They refused to let her inside, and her writ stopped short of giving her the freedom to snoop where she pleased. So with a glance at the afternoon sun, she made herself comfortable in the copse of trees near the entrance and settled down to wait.

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It was twilight by the time Celia heard the soft clip-clop of a horse approaching. She readied herself, but knew she couldn’t just jump out of hiding. It could have been something as innocuous as a villager passing by, or a watchman on patrol. No sense in scaring some poor innocent.

But whoever this was, innocuous did not describe her. Celia took in the rider, silvery hair spilling out from beneath a black cap, contrasting starkly with her black leather armor and pale skin. Her horse was dappled white-and-black, giving the whole picture an unnatural feel. The rider was fit, too, and carried a thin blade and a dagger. Another mercenary? Such things were rare, but they did happen, two different groups getting the same job from different postings. She moved to confirm, but some instinct made her hold back. Something about the rider felt wrong.

The rider brought her mount to a halt about fifteen paces from the front of the warehouse doors. “Gentlemen,”' she called with a warm and inviting tone of voice, the kind of voice you hear and immediately want to hear more of. “This is a fortunate night for you.”

The two guards were both looking up at her now, though Celia was too far away to make out their expressions. “Yeah?” The one on the left asked with honest curiosity. “And why is that?”

The rider tossed a sack towards them, and Celia heard the clink of metal. “Because tonight is the night you both become rich men. There are sixty gold dragons in that bag. If you leave now, you could both be in the next county over by sunrise.” Her voice was elegance incarnate, every word pronounced with poise and exacting care. For a moment, Celia was lost in that voice, and only remembered she was witnessing blatant bribery when she saw both guardsmen dash off with the gold, the sack jangling as they ran.

The rider casually dismounted, walking to the locked doors as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Celia did a quick bit of mental math. Unless there were high quality goods in that warehouse, sixty dragons would be enough to buy the place twice over. Celia scrunched up her eyes tight, trying to determine what was setting her instincts off, then opened them wide in surprise. The next county over was a week’s travel on foot, a dwarven fief by the name of Ocher Sky. And yet the two guards and even Celia herself had taken her word for it, and treated her offer as genuine. This has to be the thief, Celia thought, and was quickly proven correct when the rider knelt and began fiddling with the lock.

Celia took stock of the situation. This pale woman had used some sort of magic to enchant her voice and make her words seem like obvious truths. Well, mind magic was nothing new. She pulled a potion from her belt, downing it in one gulp, and feeling her mind somehow grow harder and sharper, more defined. She looked over at the thief. She still seemed beautiful, of course, but no longer supernaturally so. A charm, then, Celia thought, though I doubt she’d have needed it to convince guards like those. She drew her blade, approaching the woman.

“Clever trick with the guards,” Celia called out, voice strong. “But it won’t work twice. Now drop those blades of yours and walk over here. The magistrate back in New Gyr will be thrilled to see your face tomorrow, but if you don’t cooperate, I can’t promise if he’ll see the rest of you.”

The woman stood up, and even with the charm negated Celia could see she moved with a fluid grace. Turning around lithely, the pale woman eyed her up and down with eyes that were positively burning with desire.

“What a brave young knight,” she said in a honeyed tone. “I see my friends hired some extra muscle to guard tonight.” Smiling in a genuine way she made to walk back toward her horse. “I'm sure you wouldn't object to the same windfall?” The slight shift in her tone of voice, the subtle implication that of course she would accept. Instead, the blonde swordswoman stepped between horse and rider, blade held at the ready.

“I think not,” she said in quiet triumph.

The rider's eyes widened a bit, and the wide smile faded to an appraising smirk. “Oh? So you figured out my little trick?” She asked. She took a quick step back, drawing her rapier in one fluid motion. “Well, trick or no, thirty gold Dragons is enough to set you up nicely. A nice dowry to entice a –”

She stepped back, raising an eyebrow as Celia’s sword swiped through the air where she had just been.

“I am not some prize to be married off,” the blonde seethed. “I am not a poor little dear,” she said in a mockery of a simper. “I am not a silly girl playing pretend!” She added, punctuating her words with another swing of her blade. The pale lady smoothly rolled beneath it, seeming almost amused as she regained her footing easily. Celia narrowed her eyes. “I am Celia Evergleam, sworn member of the Ravenswood Company.”

The pale rider's smile had shifted from amused, to condescending, to appreciative, and finally to something bordering on respect. “Well, Celia Evergleam,” she said softly, beginning to circle the armored woman. “I am Gella.” Without another word, she dashed forward and began thrusting in earnest with her rapier.

The clearing in front of the warehouse was now in near darkness, outside of the circle of light provided by the self-lighting torches on either side of the main door. Their heatless orange light illuminated the combatants as they dueled. Celia had the advantage of armor and a shield, which let her make up for her decreased mobility when faced with a rapier. She swung, testing her opponent’s guard, but Gella sidestepped it as easily as the other strikes. She raised her shield, and was rewarded with a surprised grunt as she moved it right into the path of her opponent’s rapier. She had the advantage on paper, but if she couldn’t land a hit, it was useless. The lithe woman seemed almost unbound by the rules of gravity. Celia swore that her feet hovered an inch off the ground. After a clash left Celia with a stinging line of red down one cheek, the swordswoman paused to stare Gella down. “What are you?” She breathed out, trying to recompose herself.

Gella merely smiled in return and dashed forward again. Celia brought her sword down in a feint, but like a flash the pale woman was gone, and Celia felt a warm breath on her ear. How did she move that fast? Celia barely had time to think the question before Gella responded in a purr. “I am all kinds of things, my pretty little knight.”

Celia elbowed backward, but her armored joint met only air. Spinning around with considerably less grace than her opponent, Celia cast her gaze around, and found Gella lounging against the warehouse, seeming entirely unconcerned.

“Magic,” Celia growled. “So you've got a few tricks up your sleeve.” Gella arched an eyebrow, miming a single sarcastic clap. “Well, so do I!”

Quickly, she palmed a charm from her belt, dashing towards Gella with it held securely in her gauntlet. Five feet away, she crushed it, releasing a blue-white pulse of antimagic. Without her tricks, all she has is that rapier. And I’m better than she is. Her mind lost that harsh edge that protected her from compulsions, but the dispelling charm would have broken the mind magic with it. Not giving the pale woman a chance to recover, Celia moved quickly, slamming her fist into Gella's stomach and knocking the wind from her. Whatever charm she had been using to move quickly was gone, and without that, she was just a woman. Grabbing Gella by her armor and hauling her up, Celia smirked in victory.

“Yield?” She half asked, half demanded. Gella remained silent for just a moment, long enough for Celia to begin to wonder if the pale woman had been knocked witless.

“Air falbh,” Gella whispered.

The world buckled, and Celia was left holding an empty leather chest piece against the warehouse door. She whirled, spotting Gella now about fifteen meters away, just at the edge of the firelight. Celia's blood ran cold as she realized what she had just done.

She had challenged a mage to combat. And she had just dispelled the only protection she had for her mind.

Standing there with her pale breasts bare to the world, Gella smiled that same damned smile, effortlessly in control despite the situation. Celia immediately started planning her escape, but no, she couldn’t outrun a mage. Her fingers reached for the scroll at her hip, her only escape from…

“Tromih cheles.” Gella's voice, though a whisper, filled the darkened space. Celia cried out as she felt something batter against her mind, something ravenous and hungry and desperate to get in past her… her…

Celia… was she… she was Celia, she knew that. She looked at the… the things on her… they were metal, weren’t they… she could just barely remember using them to… A noise, and Celia's head darted up to find it, animal instinct guiding her more than anything. It was… her thoughts swam and pooled and melted as she tried to gather just one, and something deep and primal screamed at her from the part of her mind left over from before words were invented. All of her instincts screamed the same thing.

DANGER!

She looked at the pale woman with naked fear, and scrambled to run. She felt something flutter away from her side but she hadn't even a scrap of thought to spare for it. Legs that seemed only tangentially related to her body tried to move. How many did she have? How many was she supposed to? She scurried backward from the approaching woman while her heart pounded a mile a minute and looked up into…

Her thoughts cleared. She was on the ground looking up at Gella, past the point of her glowing rapier. It hadn’t been glowing before. She swallowed hard and met Gella's eyes. In the stark clarity being at the edge of death brought, she noticed that Gella had yet to cover her breasts. She really is gorgeous, charm or not, a distant part of her thought. The pale mage looked down at Celia with a curious expression, halfway between glee and interest. Then without another word Gella thrust the rapier right into Celia's chest plate, piercing the metal as if it were parchment.

I'm dead, a quiet part of Celia said as the glowing metal pierced her. No priests around, no potion to stop this kind of damage. As she lay there, her life rolled by in fragmented bits and pieces. Happy moments from before the Moment, curiously undimmed by time. Her disastrous first kiss with a boy, her much more interesting first kiss with a girl, playing with sticks and tree branches like swords… A few tears welled up and dripped down her cheeks. She knew what came next, and she didn’t want to relive it. Her dreams did that enough.

But then… it didn't come.

In fact, she realized, there didn't seem to be pain or discomfort at all. Not even the slight ache from riding all day, or the exhaustion of a stakeout. Somehow that made her feel diminished, distant in her own skin. She looked at the rapier in Gella's hand, and noted idly that there wasn't a drop of blood on it. Had the rapier even pierced her armor? She assumed it must have, but… She lay there for a moment, not precisely uncomfortable in the night air with a topless woman standing over her. At some point, she thought she would have to move, and she puzzled over how that might go.

Gella walked away and Celia was left laying on her back, looking up at the stars. They were quite pretty, she thought distantly. For a few long moments Celia simply was, not thinking overly much, then Gella reappeared in her field of view dressed once more in her leather armor. She offered her hand, and spoke, warmly and softly.

“You can stand up, pretty little knight.” Celia felt something tug deep in her mind. She could stand up, Gella had said. And so she could, and a moment later with Gella's offered hand Celia was upright.

Gella slowly strode around Celia, inspecting her while Celia's utterly guileless blue eyes followed her while she was in her range of vision. Once the mage passed behind her, Celia fixed her vision on a middle point. There wasn’t anything else to focus on. She stood there in complete passivity, slowly filling her lungs and just as slowly breathing out. Again her thoughts quieted to a distant murmur of half formed ideas and fantasies, far too dim to draw Celia's attention. Gella appeared from the corner of Celia's vision, and her eyes locked on the pale mage again. “How do you feel?” She asked.

Celia simply stood there for a moment as a few ethereal wisps of thought came to her. Well, it was Gella asking, so she should respond. Her head turned to Gella, but she didn’t speak. She should answer, she was fairly certain of that, but there was something missing. She could picture drawing in breath, forming the words, even, but nothing happened.

“You can speak, Celia,” Gella said after a long moment, her tone even besides a tinge of curiosity.

She could speak. Gella had told her so. The words flowed easily, like water through a well worn channel. “I feel sore from where you cut me. I feel tired from the armor. I feel a little thirsty. I'm starting to feel a little tired.” The words left her mouth smoothly, her tone disinterested and even. She closed her eyes, trying to find other feelings to answer with. “I feel slightly aroused from seeing you topless,” she added.

Gella paused at the last bit and eyed Celia up and down with a different kind of curiosity. Humming to herself, she reached her hand into seemingly nowhere, pulling out a small shimmering crystal, then tapped it twice. “First effects of the new enchantment prove promising,” she enunciated, looking Celia up and down. “The subject, a female human by the name of Celia Evergleam, is alert and responsive to questions. Permission to complete assigned tasks seems to be required, though some basic actions such as moving her eyes, and of course breathing, seem to be allowed automatically. Will test to see if commands can be coupled with permissions.” A moment later, the same non-space that produced the crystal produced a leather waterskin which Gella handed out to Celia. “Take this and drink until your thirst is slaked. You can take any actions required to do this.”

Celia took the waterskin and popped the top off with her thumb as she had done hundreds of times before. She was thirsty. Gella had given her something to drink. She did. Finally, with the dry feeling gone, Celia just stopped moving, utterly docile.

“Fascinating,” Gella said to herself, then began enunciating clearly again. “Celia can process commands with explicit permissions. Proceeding with a nonstandard command test.” Looking directly at her again, Gella motioned to the waterskin. “Celia. Open the top of the waterskin and dump the contents over your head.”

The vague, listless thoughts in Celia's mind coalesced around the command. After a moment she had the top undone and raised the waterskin above her head. Gella told her to dump the water all over herself. It would probably be cold and uncomfortable, she knew, but in a distant kind of way. There was hardly anything that could be done about that. She tipped the skin further, and the water fell onto her. It was chilly, and the sensation was a shock, but it felt muted and dulled to the blonde woman. After making sure that every centimeter of her hair and head were completely soaked, Celia turned back to Gella and went passive again.

“Why did you do that?' Gella asked with a restrained excitement to her voice. Celia paused for a moment while she thought about the best answer to give.

“Because you told me to,” she answered, finding that to be the most complete answer.

“Fascinating. Simply fascinating,” the pale woman repeated to herself. “The new weapon enchantment from outward appearances is a standard domination spell, but with none of the halting movement or mental resistance. I've decided to continue long term observation of Celia at Cair Dwemor.” Gella moved towards Celia, then stopped, seeming to consider something. “Inspiration!" She said toward the little floating crystal. “I had thought to render the subject unconscious via a sleep enchantment for the trip back. However, I can use this time to test the interactions between the new enchantment and standard domination.”

Turning back toward Celia, Gella met her eyes. “Do you know about magic that dominates the mind of another, Celia?” She asked evenly. Celia had heard of such powerful spells, but only as third or fourth-hand rumors. Mind magic was one thing, but complete control was another. Given the power magic offered, though, she was inclined to believe such an effect was possible.

“I have only heard about it in rumor,” she said evenly. “I have never seen it or anyone that could cast it,” she added after a moment's consideration.

Gella nodded as if she were expecting that. “They certainly do exist, and I know a handful. When I cast this spell, I will be able to control your body like a marionette.” She paused and searched Celia's expression for any hint of reaction. Celia imagined it, her body with strings attached to each limb, being tugged and manipulated by Gella. The mental image failed to rouse any emotions in her. It was just something that was going to happen to her, it seemed.

She thought for a moment past that initial passivity, which itself was a first since she had been stabbed with Gella's rapier. Having her body controlled probably should horrify her. She distinctly remembered the idea of losing control being a prime reason she had sought out a way to kill herself rather than be captured. Yet here she was, standing perfectly still, dripping water in front of a mage that was going to do just that, and the only thing she felt was a growing chill from the night air. She couldn’t run away. Even more than that, she couldn’t want to run away. She wouldn’t want to. She didn’t need to.

“You're going to feel my spell take hold of your mind. When you do, you will do everything you can not to resist it,” Gella said after a moment watching Celia's eyes.

“Ceannas,'' Gella intoned softly.

Immediately Celia felt as if bindings were tightening around her mind. Unlike the previous spell, which had felt like a whirlwind battering at her thoughts, this seemed more like bars trying to cage in her mind. She took a deep breath to center herself and closed her eyes, picturing the bars being strengthened and oiled so as to slip around her mind more easily. Her breathing was already slow and relaxed, and she sought to center herself even more. I want this. I want to be under this spell, she thought, trying to reinforce the magic. Barely a second later, she felt the bars clang shut, and a dull jolt passed through her body.

“Well done, Celia,” Gella's voice sounded in her mind. Neither impossibly loud nor a seductive whisper, it was nevertheless impossible for the knight to ignore. “So long as the spell lasts you will be able to hear my voice in your mind if I choose,” Gella said normally. “Of course, you'll respond just as well to verbal commands. “Do ten jumping jacks.”

The command reverberated through Celia's mind, and her body leapt to obey. The magic dominating her mind had taken over, and even more than before, Celia felt like a distant passenger in her own body as it flawlessly performed the simple exercises. Finishing the tenth, she returned to her rest state and let her eyes lock on Gella once more. The pale mage smiled, then frowned, glancing at her rapier. Reaching out to grab her floating crystal, she stowed it in that no-space and looked into Celia's eyes. “You will make no attempt to harm me or move more than two meters from me,” she said firmly, her voice echoing in Celia’s mind. Distantly, Celia wondered how she would possibly begin to consider trying to harm Gella, when the rapier at the mage’s hip stopped glowing, and Celia slammed back into full awareness of her body.

Boiling incandescent rage erupted in Celia's chest. She lunged toward Gella with her hand on her sword hilt, ready to draw and strike her down in an instant. After she’d made it a step, though, her body froze, lowering its hands to her sides. “You fucking cunt!” She yelled as loud as she could, eyes glaring murderously at Gella. “You fucking bitch! I swear to every fucking god when I break this spell I'm going to flay you alive!” Rage and embarrassment and shame roiled together, driving her to mentally claw at the spell holding her body from even beginning to harm Gella. She pictured everything from body slamming her, to running forward with her sword outstretched, to throwing her potions… her potions!

Her hand went to her belt and she slipped free a tiny squishy ball, and threw it down with all her strength. Billowing white smoke erupted from it, along with a subtle misdirection hex that would make navigating difficult. She could get away, she could find someone at the guild to assist her, and… Her body took two steps and simply stopped. She hadn’t had any indication of where Gella was, so that command shouldn’t have mattered! She yelled at her treacherous body, willing it with every fiber of her being to just run, to escape the mage that had stolen away her will! Of course, nothing happened. She couldn't take a single step more than two meters away, and even the misdirection hex couldn’t let her cheat that.

Part of her wanted to collapse into a sobbing mess at how easily Gella had robbed her of her freedom. Part of her dearly wanted to – She blinked in surprise. The command had been to not harm Gella. Could that mean she… Her hand went to the last insurance, the scroll that would slay her, and found only empty leather. When had it… Distantly, she remembered something fluttering away when Gella had launched her first psychic attack. Moving quickly as the smoke began to dissipate, Celia drew her blade and steeled herself. She managed to get the point of her longsword more or less pointed at her throat when Gella’s voice echoed in her mind with a single, imperious word. “Freeze.”

Gella walked into her field of view with a look of curiosity and respect on her face. “Impressive resolve. Drop the sword, Celia. In fact, take anything you have that you could use to harm yourself and give it to me.” Celia's body moved to obey, handing the sword over hilt first to the pale mage. Celia desperately tried anything to nudge her body to at least give Gella a cut, or herself, but the mage's magical grip held firm. The implied command was obvious, and she couldn't even begin to make an attempt to harm Gella. The mage opened up the non-space beside her and stowed away Celia's blade. For a moment, the knight wondered if she would ever see it again. Then her thoughts turned away from that as she drew her boot knife and handed it over, followed by the empty potion phials. That confused Celia for a moment, until she realized that the glass could have been shattered and used to hurt herself.