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

by Stas Borodin

  “Hold it steady!” Master Keandr ordered. “Now we’ll know whether I was right or wrong.”

  The air in the valley shimmered like a haze over a red-hot oven. The scout’s lonely figure on the distant hill arched strangely as if stretched by a distorting mirror. It was a terrible and disturbing sight.

  “This is some potent magic indeed.” Master Keandr exhaled. “I’ll be damned!”

  Suddenly, it was as if an invisible veil was torn from the valley. From end to end and stretching to the horizon, it was covered with a swarming human sea. Every hill and valley was occupied by horsemen. A group of nomads on swift horses raced right before our spearmen.

  At the same time, the valley filled with the hubbub of human voices, the tramp of horses, the wailing of pipes and an unbearable stench. The smell of thousands of unwashed human bodies and countless animals was overwhelming. I swayed in the saddle, clutching the reins tighter. Selphir snorted angrily.

  “Iiiiflii naaaa!” the officers shouted. “Iiiiflii naaaa!”

  Our army wasn’t frightened by the sudden appearance of an enemy host. Laughing, the soldiers began to swallow the second portion of their coloured pills.

  “Well, now we’ll have some fun!” shouted one of the spearmen. “On your backs, you sons of whores!”

  The soldiers howled in unison and began banging their spears against their shields.

  The enemy finally realized that he was found. Hundreds of pipes shrieked at once. Drums thundered. Cavalry units, who were prancing just in front of our shields, darted back under the protection of the main forces.

  I watched with bitterness as the lonely scout was struck down by the black arrows. The nomads hooked the corpse with a lasso and dragged it to the big tent on the top of a steep white hill.

  “Their mage is most likely there.” Father pointed to the hill.

  “We will see,” the king nodded. “So far, everything is going according to plan.”

  Never before had I seen such a crowd. The nomads’ army resembled the sea, with its currents, eddies and tides. A sudden movement suddenly shook all around and a wave rolled across the valley. Surf boiled, splashing troops forward one after another, and around the white tent on the hill top swirled a whirlpool of movement.

  “We disrupted their plans,” Father said. “And now they will fight on our terms.”

  “I think they’re ready for this,” Master Keandr said. “See how smoothly they operate. It’s like poetry in motion!”

  Only at first glance did the enemy army seem like a shapeless human mass. When it began to move, I could not help admiring the coherence of their manoeuvres and evolutions. Some units deftly passed through others, suddenly changed direction, occupied new positions. Right before our eyes, the dormant predator leapt to his feet and prepared to pounce.

  I looked at the impeccable order of our troops and was immediately reassured.

  The infantry, standing in falerman squares, bristled with a forest of shining spears. The heavy Firgan cavalry froze on the right wing, all in black armour, armed with enormous long-handled axes. In front of us were standing crossbowmen with pavises on their backs and arms at the ready.

  On the hill to the left, under the protection of a solid wall of halberdiers, were standing straight chains of Arganese archers, in steel helmets and with powerful longbows in their hands. Then, over the hill, were ranks of light cavalry, which had met us only the day before, Sidian mounted dart throwers, Mithrian horse archers, and Vaals with their wicked curved sickles.

  The Royal Guard and the palace guards occupied the hill, giving them a convenient overview. The king stood up in his stirrups, inspecting the enemy positions. My father looked at our troops.

  “The left flank is too weak if we have to fight on the defensive,” Father reported.

  “No.” Master Keandr shook his head. “We will attack as soon as possible. We have to inflict the maximum possible damage and divide the nomads’ army into pieces.”

  “Are we going to hit them in the middle?” Father looked worried.

  “No,” replied Master Keandr. “It may be that the tent on the hill serves as bait. We will not fall for this trick.”

  “Look, the cavalry units are moving to the left wing, which means that the right wing is strong enough, despite the fact that there are fewer soldiers.”

  “I see.” Master Keandr nodded. “Perhaps our mysterious enemy is hiding right there.”

  “The centre looks pretty strong too, but there are not enough people to attack.” Father pointed. “You know, they usually attack with the whole front, and if the centre budges, the tent will be left without protection.”

  “True,” Master Keandr agreed. “But if they hit us from the flanks that leaves a large force to protect the centre, so the tent is not a hoax. If the right wing does not enter the fight immediately, then our assumptions are also true.”

  “Or partly true,” Father corrected the king. “With such a foe we can never be sure.”

  “The Great Khan never enters the fray, it is considered beneath his dignity,” Master Keandr agreed.

  “But their mage should be the first to rush into battle, inspiring all by his example and hoping to get all the glory.” Father said. “We can use that.”

  “Yes, if he has the courage,” Master Keandr chuckled. “If he runs, the whole army will run.”

  I listened to our commanders and could not believe my own ears. Their self-confidence made me feel nervous. Did they really think that the nomads would run? Until now, the nomads had proved to be brave warriors. They were happy to go into battle and selflessly fought to the last man. Scouts always spoke of the fighting qualities of the Alims with the greatest respect, and I trusted their opinion implicitly.

  I looked carefully at our troops, but could not find Master Dante’s scout squad. Had they gone on a new mission? Or maybe they had already fallen into another cunning trap and had all perished? I felt uneasy at the thought that all my new friends might be dead.

  It was a sunny day, near noon, and the sun had risen high above our heads. The shadow of the cliff under which we stood gradually shortened, and it was getting hot. Carefully polished armour shone in the sun, spearheads and drawn swords glittered brightly.

  I imagined the picture that the nomads saw at this moment. My heart began to pound harder in my chest and my whole being was filled with pride. They saw a dazzling shining wall of steel, stern and frightening. A wall on which hordes of invaders who had dared to attack our small kingdom had crashed countless times. Multicoloured silk banners fluttered lazily in the wind, a shimmering forest of spears swayed, and between the immense steel squares rose a magnificent chariot filled with the holy relics.

  The king lifted his left hand. Immediately the silver trumpets sang, and the bugles, rattles and bagpipes of different divisions responded in unison. The commanders ran forward and waved their batons.

  “Use the Scorpio formation!” Master Keandr commanded.

  Father nodded curtly and waved his flag, giving orders. In response, the commanders began to spin their batons. Pipes shrieked.

  “Areeeeh!” The order to begin the attack swept over the valley.

  The long column of infantry stepped forward as one. The crossbowmen dropped their pavises and ran, slightly outpacing the spearmen.

  Our enemies became agitated, accelerating their impeccable revolutions. Detachments from the flanks flew at full speed toward the centre, forming a huge wedge.

  “An unusual formation for the nomads,” my father observed. “It seems that they are trying to conceal an entire detachment of heavy cavalry.”

  “Could be just a feint.” The king shook his head. “Continue!”

  Our crossbowmen approached the enemy, and in a heartbeat, planted their square shields on the ground. The nomads released a cloud of arrows, but the distance was too great for their bows, and their arrows dropped halfway without harming our men.

  The infantry lined up behind the crossbowmen, lowered t
heir shields and spears, and started to shout insults.

  Trumpets wailed and the first nomads fell from their horses to the ground. Crossbow bolts easily pierced leather shields and light armour. Our men worked like machines. Making a shot, they bent under the protection of their heavy shields and quickly twisted the windlass handles, reloading their deadly ranged weapons.

  My hunting crossbow, of course, could not compete in the firing range with a heavy crossbow. In spite of a steel bowstring, it was not much more long-ranged than the nomads’ bows. With envy I eyed another almost impossible hit.

  The enemy became furious. Some men threw away their useless shields and armour. Displaying their bare chests, they shouted, showing us that they were not afraid of death. Many of them immediately fell to the ground, pierced by arrows.

  On top of the hill where the tent was, a red pennant fluttered on a long bamboo pole. At the same moment, a tide of screaming and hooting riders rushed to our position.

  The nomads attacked using their ancient tactics. A horde of light cavalry used to approach the enemy positions and shower them with a rain of arrows, then they would turn to the feigned flight, forcing their enemy to break ranks and shoot the eager pursuers one by one.

  “This time they will hit us with heavy cavalry,” suggested Father. “Look, the centre is moving slower and is much denser.”

  “Yes, there is a hidden wedge,” Master Keandr agreed. “But it is possible that this is just another ploy.”

  Meanwhile, our crossbowmen had thinned the attacking cavalry considerably, but soon steel hail drummed on their pavises as well. Without losing composure, the first wounded calmly threw their shields on their backs, passed their remaining arrows to their comrades and retreated to the rear. The spearmen slapped the crossbowmen encouragingly on their steel helms as they passed through.

  At the baggage train the injured were seated on the healers’ carts, where their wounds were promptly treated and arrows stuck in armour removed. Bandaging completed, the crossbowmen climbed uphill, taking up new positions.

  Meanwhile, the last shooters were forced to retreat under a hail of nomads’ arrows. The spearmen raised their shields and lowered long spears. A wave of screaming Alims suddenly stopped an arrow’s flight away. Nimbly prancing on their dwarf horses, they started shooting arrow after arrow.

  The rear ranks of our spearmen raised their shields over their heads, covering themselves and their comrades with a thick steel roof, on which the deadly rain drummed hard.

  From above, from the top of the hill, the whole battlefield was in front of me at a glance, so that I could easily watch all troops’ displacements.

  “It was a deceptive move,” Father grumbled. “There was no heavy cavalry.”

  “It’s too early to relax, my friend,” Master Keandr chuckled. “They just wanted us to weaken our flanks. Let’s see what they do now.”

  I looked to the right flank. Our crossbowmen took a position on a hillside and chased the nomads away from the heavy Firgan cavalry. They fired over the riders’ heads with incredible precision, knocking down anyone who dared to enter killing range.

  On the left flank, the Arganese raised their giant bows and began to mow down the rampaging riders. Horses, pierced by arrows, fell to the ground, breaking their legs and crushing shrieking riders. The front ranks of the attackers turned into a terrible mess of living and dying. Many brave nomads, wounded, clad in tattered bloody clothes, continued to shoot arrows, hiding behind the heaps of corpses.

  “A messenger from the right wing,” a young warrior reported. “The crossbowmen are running out of bolts!”

  “A messenger from the left wing,” a second courier reported. “The Arganese are ready to give the final volley!”

  “The supply trains are late,” Father frowned. “It’s time to attack!”

  “It is.” Master Keandr looked up from the battlefield. “Scorpio formation!”

  Pipes roared, bagpipes wailed, horns and whistles echoed from everywhere.

  “Areeeeh!” the lieutenants shouted.

  “Elllaaaa – eeeeeeh!” thousands of soldiers wailed. “Elllaaaa – eeeeeeh!”

  The air trembled from the battle song, and the earth itself shuddered when our infantry surged forward as one man.

  Chapter 6

  The nomads were masters of retreat. They swept back like a tide, carrying away the wounded and killed, leaving only dead horses and pools of blood.

  “You can learn how to retreat from them!” Father grunted approvingly. “They are retreating much better than attacking.”

  “They’ve had a lot of practice.” Master Keandr shrugged. “Let’s hit them in the rear!”

  The king raised both arms above his head, and the signallers who followed us immediately blew their pipes, passing commands.

  “Trident formation!” Father commanded.

  The pipes sounded again and, advancing as a solid phalanx, our infantry immediately broke into three rectangles. The light cavalry flew over the hill like a hurricane. Wild Sidians, armed with deadly darts, passed between the rows of spearmen and rushed after the retreating enemy. Behind them followed the pugnacious Vaals with glittering sickles, and ferocious Sidian archers on red-eyed white horses. Light-footed Arganese archers rushed down the hill to collect their arrows. The crossbowmen raced after them without delay but they couldn’t keep up with the nimble highlanders. From behind, the attackers were covered by halberdiers, with the heavy Firgan cavalry on the right flank.

  The dust raised by thousands of feet obscured the battlefield, hiding what was happening from our eyes.

  “It’s time for us!” Master Keandr exclaimed and reined in, raising his magnificent horse on its hind legs. We proceeded down the hill at a leisurely pace.

  I covered my face with a scarf to get some protection from the dust. However, it got under the thin fabric easily and hurt my throat and my eyes.

  “Damn! It’s like riding into a sandstorm!” one of the squires complained. “And worst of all, we won’t get to see our guys kicking these smelly savages’ asses!”

  “Really?” For some reason I didn’t liked this youth. “And what if it’s us who get our asses kicked?”

  “What a cowardly thing to say!” the squire snorted. “Who would have thought that the son of the commander could be such a coward?”

  I opened my mouth to answer, but the impudent fellow had already disappeared from my sight. The black dust clouds became so dense that I immediately suspected that something had gone wrong. I couldn’t breathe. My heart started to pound hard, and hot tears streamed from my eyes.

  “Indeed, the foul tricks of Mistar!” It seemed to me that the whole world was lost in the suffocating whirlwind. “Help us, Orvad!”

  As if in answer to my prayers, the pipes roared ahead.

  “Ifffliiiii!” a stentorian voice ordered the men to take drugs.

  “Ifffliiiii!” resounded everywhere.

  I quickly found the box on my belt and pulled open the third dispenser. This time there were three red and two yellow pills. I pulled the scarf from my face, threw a handful of drugs into my mouth and began to chew. My mouth filled with bitter saliva. With a great effort, I forced myself to swallow and fumbled on my saddle in search of my half-empty flask.

  The swirling darkness disappeared immediately, as if carried away by a gust of fresh wind. I realized that it had been enemy magic, cunning and dangerous.

  Directly in front of me, the bodyguards restored order quickly and efficiently. Their dust-covered blue capes billowed, hiding the slender figure of the king from me.

  “Mark, don’t fall behind!” One of the soldiers turned to me, and under a thick layer of dust, I recognized Korn. “We have to stick close to the Master!”

  Father and his palace guard tried to keep up with the king, but he still went ahead, leaving us behind.

  My crossbow was covered in dust and sand, so I quickly dropped my gloves and began to clean the trigger nut with my jacket sleeve.
Far ahead, the roar of battle could be heard. Perhaps our light cavalry had already caught up with the retreating enemy. Standing up in the stirrups, I tried to see what was going on, but to no avail.

  I remembered that I had to stay close to the king, so I spurred Selphir, sending him forward. My father was right as always, the horse was amazing. The wind whistled in my ears and the horsemen we overtook seemed to be standing still.

  “That is not a horse, it’s the devil!” one of the knights yelled. Selphir pushed him away, surging forward. Seeing Eflimer, he whinnied a greeting and instantly fell in beside him.

  Father turned to me. His helmet visor was locked and he held a triangular shield in his left hand. He clutched a long heavy lance tightly in his armoured fist.

  Only at that moment did I realize that I had no armour. The knights surrounding me on all sides were clad in armour from head to toe; only I was wearing a light scout’s uniform. For weapons I had a curved cavalry sabre and a crossbow.

  Father waved his hand, giving orders. I understood immediately. Korn understood as well and his huge black stallion started to press Selphir, pushing him out of the king’s cortège.

  I tried to resist, but the order of the commander was paramount to the faithful squire. His heavy hand fell on my back, a gauntlet closed on my jacket, and he pulled me easily out of the saddle. Without any apparent effort, he threw me onto his lap, picked up Selphir’s reins and rode to the roadside.

  “The Master told you to stay away from the battlefield!” Korn lowered me to the ground. “I just realized what you’re wearing!”

  I snatched Selphir’s reins from his fist.

  “I’m sorry, Mark.” I could hear sincere regret in his voice. “Believe me, with all my heart, I would like you to be with us, but—”