Magic, Sorcery and Witchcraft: Book One of Marcus Grimm saga

by Stas Borodin

  I heard a scream, but it was not me screaming; my cry bubbled painfully somewhere deep in my throat. These were the cries of the soldiers.

  ✽✽✽

  I reached the house in a semi-conscious state. The butler met me at the door and handed me a wet towel.

  “Thank you, Melvin,” I muttered, wiping my tear-stained face.

  “Your father is at the barracks,” he said. “He ordered you to report immediately, as soon as you return.”

  I nodded. My teeth still clicked like castanets and my head was spinning wildly.

  Somehow I got to my room, pulled my uniform out of the trunk and hastily dressed. I took a short sword and an adjutant’s breast badge.

  Asking no questions, Mother stopped me in the hallway, adjusted my baldric and helped to fasten the badge around my neck.

  “War at the door,” she said quietly. “Even sooner than we thought.” She put her hands on my shoulders and smiled. “Be ready for anything.” Her voice was calm. “Remember us, and take care of Father.”

  She pushed me in the back, and I ran down the stairs, trying not to cry. Melvin was holding my horse by the reins. Onto the saddle were strapped my travel bag, spear and triangular cavalry shield with our family coat of arms.

  I raced through the empty streets of the Upper Town and entered the barracks of the palace guard. The guards at the entrance were in full battle garb. Even helmets were fastened and steel visors lowered.

  Dismounting, I threw the reins to the groom, and briskly walked into the office.

  Chapter 2

  Father was sitting at a table immersed in the study of some reports. “Gather all the documents on fortification of the city, the stock of provisions, water and ammunition,” he ordered, without looking at me. “There will be a meeting of the general staff in half an hour.”

  I hastily picked up the sliding ladder and climbed up to the ceiling. I took documents out of the marked boxes and stuffed them in my shoulder bag.

  “I was at the gate, Dad,” I said, quickly flipping through another filing cabinet in search of the right card.

  Father chuckled. I’d expected him to react differently. “And what did you see?” he asked after a while.

  “All of it,” I confessed, coming down the ladder.

  “Well, I’m afraid too many have seen it.” His tone was icy. “It could start a panic in the city, and the morale of our garrison is already low.”

  “I thought the enemy was still far away,” I said, packing heaps of maps and charts.

  “I do not think that the nomads will attack right now. They want us to panic, they want us to lose hope.” Father threw a dispatch on the table. “We have to prevent that at all costs!” His large sunburnt arms lay motionless on the table. Father seemed very tired. I noticed a cup of cold coffee on the edge of the table.

  “And where is Korn?” I asked, looking around.

  “Preparing the equipment.” Father looked at me wearily, his eyes bloodshot. “The palace guards may have to march immediately after the military council. Your armour is also ready.”

  I had expected this. War had always hung over Lieh as a black Sword of Mistar. We had always been the rock on which invasion from the wild steppes and forests crashed. Lieh had never known real peace. Our men slept holding a spear in one hand and used a saddle for a pillow.

  Father interrupted my thoughts, slamming his hand on the table. He stood up, stretched, and rubbed his aching lower back. “This time we will not be deceived. We’ll give the Alims a good thrashing! Huh? What do you think?” Sinister lights danced in his eyes. “Your old man is still worth something!”

  “Our Royal Guard also knows how to fight.” I nodded.

  “That’s right,” Father chuckled. “And King Keandr will lead us himself, while King Lysander will gather levies for our aid.”

  “And what about the Unicorn Company? Will we wait for it to arrive?”

  “No.” Father frowned. “I’m not going to share the glory with Lord Brezel.”

  “Why?” Korn said, as he entered the room. The squire was dressed in black armour engraved with silver leaves. “There is enough glory for everyone. It is soldiers we lack…”

  Father rolled his eyes. “You do not know Lord Brezel, dear Korn. He is always hungry for glory; his appetite cannot be satisfied.”

  The squire put a white ceremonial cape on my father’s shoulders, fastened the silver fibula in the form of a white owl and carefully smoothed the folds.

  “The carriage is waiting for us, sir.” Korn examined me critically from head to toe. Quickly he came up to me, tugged at my belt and adjusted my epaulettes. “Where is your cap? Don’t forget we’re going to the palace!”

  I took my hat from my bag and put it on my head.

  ✽✽✽

  The palace stood on the very top of the mountain that the townspeople called “the Needle”. When viewed from above, the city looked like a giant sundial – a giant circle with a thin needle in the middle. Citizens followed the course of the day by the shadow of the palace slowly moving over the city blocks. Today the city looked more like a bonfire. Gas torches burned in spacious squares to which citizens flocked from everywhere to listen to the latest gossip and royal decrees. All the windows in the city were brightly illuminated and the dark watchtowers bristled with long spears of search lights, cutting the darkness outside the city walls. The shining lanterns of countless patrols bobbed along the ramparts.

  The carriage rolled across the drawbridge, drove through the brightly lit watchtower and stopped in the courtyard. A hundred spearmen stood at attention in full uniform, shields polished, spearheads glittering.

  Father jumped down the steps, carefully inspecting his troops. A bit further on, there were squires in black armour with silver patterns. Grooms led the horses to the stables while the captain of the Paarish crossbowmen checked wagons loaded with crates and barrels.

  “Well, Ansel, everything received as ordered?” Father slapped the tall grey-haired captain on his broad back.

  “You must be kidding.” Ansel looked annoyed. “I got only six thousand bolts. That’s twenty bolts per soldier. Half an hour of battle and my excellent crossbowmen will turn into a poor infantry! You know Alims use only bows, and the arrows that we might pick up on the battlefield will be useless for us.”

  “I know, Ansel.” Father held up his hand. “Don’t worry, old friend. The enemy will not be able to approach the city walls.”

  “Let them come,” protested the captain. “We are not going to spend bolts for nothing. One shot – one kill!”

  “I’m sure you’ll keep your promise,” Father said. “Leave your wagons, buddy. We will decide what to do at the meeting.”

  Ansel walked next to my father, looking back from time to time at his precious supplies.

  Since childhood, I had been familiar with most of the officers who served in our garrison. Many officers, including Captain Ansel, were our friends. He often dined with us at home and rarely came without a gift. On one of his visits he gave me my first hunting crossbow. After that, my father started taking me hunting, and in time I became a good shooter.

  Without stopping, we went to the second level of the castle. Here stood numerous siege machines. Engineers accompanied by teams of technicians repaired catapults, trebuchets and giant crossbows. One of the engineers was roundly abusing a team of confused flamethrowers. Infuriated mechanics crowded nearby, wooden hammers at the ready.

  “What happened, Master Leonard?” My father went straight to the engineer, pushing technicians out of the way.

  “Ahh, it’s you…” Master Leonard seemed annoyed.

  “Were you expecting someone else?” Father joked.

  “No, I wasn’t!” snapped the engineer. “I’ll take care of these blockheads myself; your help is not needed.”

  “Have you forgotten who is boss round here?” Father said sharply. “I’m not going to argue with you all day long.”

  Master Leonard rolled his
eyes. One of the apprentices tugged his sleeve. Ignoring the assistant, the engineer took off his hat and bowed casually. “As you wish… Master…” Leonard’s apprentice once again poked him in the ribs. “These idiots here fucked up the flamethrower! Come on, show us how you are going to pour fire on the damned nomads!”

  The commander of the firethrowers shrank under the gaze of the senior engineer. “I beg your pardon, sir.” His face became whiter than chalk. “We forgot to drain the tank during the last drill—”

  “They forgot!” Master Leonard threw up his hands. “And what happened, may I ask?”

  “It’s thickened.” The soldier stood at attention, beads of sweat rolling down his face.

  “And what would happen if we decided to use your flamethrower?” the engineer snapped.

  “Blow up, probably.” The flamethrower swallowed hard. Not daring to move, he looked at the sky over the heads of his superiors.

  “No, you just listen—” Leonard snorted, but my father stopped him with a wave of his hand.

  “You, Sergeant, remove the tanks immediately! Bring some oil and solvent from the warehouse! Report to me personally when you’ve cleaned the device.” Father grabbed the chief engineer’s arm unceremoniously and dragged him along. “And you are coming with me. The military council is not going to wait.”

  ✽✽✽

  The amphitheatre was packed with anxious senators. In the very centre of the spacious hall on a small dais stood two simple chairs with a semicircle of low benches in front of them.

  Usually the council chamber looked like a buzzing beehive, but today there was a tense silence. Faces were pale and fists tightly clenched.

  Father and his advisers silently took their places. I sat down with the other secretaries at their feet, ready to hand the necessary documents on the first request.

  The air was heavy with the smell of sweat and greased armour. The atmosphere in the Senate was tense in the extreme.

  Finally, a steward entered. Hitting the floor twice with a ceremonial staff, he announced the arrival of the kings. The grim senators cheered up slightly.

  Hand in hand, keeping pace, the kings entered. Their faces were stern, and their ceremonial armour was decorated with black mourning ribbons. They stood in the doorway, waiting for the ceremony of transfer of authority from the Senate.

  On the steward’s command, the senators rose. They hit their chests with their fists twice, then extended open palms to the kings. Young pages laid iron crowns on the bowed heads of the rulers.

  War had been declared.

  The kings took their places and the advisers rose and bowed low. Without turning around, Father gave me a signal. I followed the movements of his fingers. It was usually easy to remember all the combinations, but today Father’s fingers moved too fast.

  I took from the bag a plan of the fortification structures and deftly unfolded it in front of both monarchs.

  King Keandr was a great wizard, one of the companions of the legendary Aydiola Glef. The same Aydiola Glef who had singlehandedly slain the dragon Etfulstag on the mountain Nef. Despite his age, his face was still smooth, his shoulders broad and his hair thick, without a trace of grey. His gaze was like a gaze of a basilisk. I shuddered when he turned to me.

  “Thank you, young man,” he said to me in a low soft voice.

  I bowed and quickly retreated. My father nodded approvingly.

  King Lysander was built like a bear, and his voice, too, was a match. His long grey hair lay in long thin braids on his shoulders. A heavy gold ring glistened on his finger. He was known to all as the Sword of Lieh, who had many times smashed the enemy hordes and terrified the treacherous neighbours.

  Father stood up, his armour clanging loudly in the silence. Clearing his throat, he bowed to the kings and the senate. “These last three hundred years, Lieh has seen many wars, and the city walls have always protected us. However, fifteen years of peace has taken its toll. The towers have become dilapidated and in need of urgent repair and the ditches need cleaning and deepening. The west-side ditch is littered with debris up to the top, and on the east side it was filled up with earth to expand the trakee playing field. The warehouses are empty. At best, we will be able to hold out for six months, maybe less. Thank the gods that all eleven wells are in order so we will not die of thirst in case of siege.”

  “What can I say. You have pleased us, Commander.” Lysander nodded thoughtfully. “Now, please tell us the bad news.”

  “Of course.” Father rested his fists on his hips. “The levies that we can raise are not worth much. I fear that the men will scatter just at the smell of the nomads.”

  “You are right,” agreed Lysander. “That’s possible.”

  “My guards will be able to defend the castle, but they are not enough to protect the city walls. Five thousand city guards will be able to hold only one wall at a time. If we are attacked from several directions, the city will be doomed!” Father rested his hands on the table and leaned over the map. “We do not have enough weapons—”

  “My crossbowmen received twenty bolts!” Master Ansel sprang to his feet. “One hundred and twenty bolts per person!”

  “Master Leonard?” The king nodded towards the engineer.

  “We have everything in check.” Master Leonard puffed out his narrow chest. “The machines are in perfect working order. If need be, we can take the entire city apart for projectiles.”

  “Please, don’t,” begged one of the senators. “Have mercy on my mansion!”

  The senators laughed, and the atmosphere eased a little, despite the dire predictions made by my father.

  “Shame on you, Voltam.” Master Keandr winked at the senator. “Your house is big enough to bury two armies of nomads.”

  Laughter swept the room. Faces gradually smoothed out, and the eyes of the senators gleamed feverishly.

  Only my father did not laugh. “We cannot afford a siege!” he snapped, pulling himself up to his full height. “The losses will be too heavy. My guards are strong when assembled into a single fist, but they will be completely useless spread thin over the city walls. Once the enemy is under the walls, our war machines will be useless. When they climb the ladders, no magic will save us. It will be a massacre!”

  The room fell silent once again.

  “Excuse me.” Senator Velir stood up from his seat. “Since when did the nomads learn to storm cities? They will break on our walls like a wave against a rock. A siege, you said yourself, we can survive, at least until the Unicorn Company arrives.”

  The senators muttered approvingly, looking suspiciously at my father, but he paid them no attention. “You can ask Master Leonard when Alims learned to storm cities. Would you believe him?”

  All eyes turned to Master Leonard. He was visibly nervous. “What do you expect from me? A history lesson?” He waved his arms indignantly. “The Alims did indeed burn the city of Insana, but that happened over three hundred years ago!”

  “They burned Istra, Ilieh, Ileu, and Irragu!” My father raised his hand, counting on his fingers. “All the richest cities on the coast of the White Sea. And they were strong fortresses, protected by magic and numerous garrisons. These fortresses were commanded by legendary generals of the past, but even that did not save them. What happened next you know… None of those cities was ever rebuilt.”

  “Except for Insana,” Master Leonard grunted. “It’s hard to say what is true and what is false. All this happened in ancient times.”

  “In those dark days”—Master Keandr raised his hand, drawing everyone’s attention—“Alims were ruled by Khan Hazark, a powerful mage of the past. And we have not seen such a strong mage as him for a very long time. However, the fact that nomads destroyed the Dragon Company, and Masters Davin and Estur along with it, raised our concern. It seems that once again, we have to fear the steppes…”

  “We don’t want to frighten you”—Master Lysander crossed his arms over his chest—“but the enemy who defeated the Dragon Company
deserves respect. We cannot allow them to approach the city. The risk is too great. All the villages will be destroyed, crops will be burned, vineyards trampled, orchards razed to the ground. Water sources will be poisoned. The nomads will leave behind them a desert. It will take years to rebuild it all, and meanwhile, our treasury will dwindle, as there will be no one to pay taxes. People will starve. People will die. We cannot sit behind the walls, no matter how strong and tall they are.”

  The senators looked worried; they already knew that the kings had decided.

  “But this is madness!” Senator Velir cried. “You cannot leave the city unprotected!”

  “The city will not be left defenceless,” King Keandr said. “King Lysander will take charge until Lord Brezel arrives with the reinforcements. Meanwhile, I will leave the city accompanied by a palace guard to meet the enemy in the field. I want to greet their mages personally. We’ll see which of us is stronger.”

  King Keandr smiled and slapped his chest. “I hope you still remember why I was called the Dragon of Lieh?”

  A tense silence hung in the hall.

  King Keandr grunted. “However, if the enemy are able to beat the crap out of me, you still have our good King Lysander and the holy bones of the Prophet Nefrot.”

  The senators looked at each other, puzzled.

  “You will open the sarcophagus of the Prophet. In the hour of danger his power will save the city. The strongest magic dies at our walls.”

  King Lysander put a hand on the shoulder of King Keandr. “The magic will be gone forever, and the walls can be protected by the power of our own hands.”

  I held my breath, listening to the conversation.

  “The bones of the Prophet Nefrot are a very powerful talisman, a talisman that has protected the city since ancient times. If we open the sarcophagus, the city will be covered by an unseen dome, inside which any magic will be absolutely powerless. Any magical attack within a radius of two hundred miles will be useless. So, no matter how strong the Alims’ magicians are, they will have to rely on their own courage and the strength of their bows.”