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

by Stas Borodin

  “I don’t really care,” the officer growled. “Let’s kill them both!” Pushing the slaves out of the way, he rushed up the stairs.

  One young man raised his hand, as if trying to stop an approaching killer. Anders stopped in his tracks. The spear fell from his hand and he collapsed to his knees right in front of the throne.

  With horror, I felt the smell of burning flesh. The officer’s armour flickered like a paper lantern with a candle burning inside. His face lit up for a moment and he screamed. I felt a wave of unbearable heat and screamed too. I screamed in terror. The officer’s plate was falling apart, as if there was no one within.

  Joining hands, the young men turned to us, their white-toothed smiles glowing in their dark arrogant faces. They began to descend the stairs, and I realized that this was the end. It was madness to attack such powerful mages without support. Well, now it was time for us to pay for this stupid mistake.

  The young men stopped smiling, their hands entwined in a strange vicious embrace. They clung to each other, cheek to cheek, continuing to stare at us with those cold unblinking eyes.

  Our soldiers froze as if paralyzed, watching the odd couple.

  Meanwhile, the young men pressed even closer against each other. Their embrace became stronger with every passing second. Their heads shook from the effort and beads of sweat rolled down their cheeks. I heard the crackle of their bones and the gurgling of their intestines. What a terrible magic! It looked as if they were melting, transforming into something.

  When the young men screamed, I almost fainted. Some invisible force sucked all the energy out of me, feeding on my fear and devouring me from the inside. The mages’ skulls began to crack, their eyes bulged, their teeth fell out of gaping mouths and dark blood gushed. Invisible hands mercilessly twisted their slender bodies, just like a monstrous laundress wringing water from wet clothes.

  Squealing slave girls ran away, scared by the horrible cries of their masters.

  In a moment, the bodies of the twins literally entered into one another, yielding under the terrible pressure. An invisible hand finally crumpled paper figures, and the mages slid down the flight of stairs in a shapeless bloody pile.

  I did not hear my own cry; perhaps it was drowned by the screams of my companions. My legs buckled and I fell to my knees, but someone grabbed me by the collar, hauling me upright. A familiar face leaned over me, but I could not make out who it was.

  “So we meet again, my dear friend,” Nikos smiled.

  I looked up at the entrance to the throne room and saw Master Dante. His face was drawn with tension, his hands tightly closed, one hand pressed against the other.

  At that moment I understood everything.

  “Master Dante’s Black Hands!” I cried.

  “Yes.” Nikos looked smug. “He squashed those bastards like slugs!”

  Chapter 7

  Together with Nikos, we got out of the tent into the fresh air, away from the smell of death. But there was no escape from the stench. The dead bodies of wealthy nomads lay like broken dolls scattered on the ground. Gold jewellery sparkled in the sun, and dead eyes watched us from all sides.

  “You did a good job here,” Nikos approved. “With great difficulty, we managed to get to the tent at the very beginning of the battle. Master Dante hid us using a spell, and we had only to wait for an opportunity to attack.” Nikos showed me a small ravine at the foot of the hill. “We hid there. Master Dante cast a strong spell, but we might have been found at any time. Can you imagine how surprised we were to see your squad standing in the middle of the field after the charge of the heavy cavalry?”

  “We were surprised as well,” I assured him.

  “That’s true,” Nikos agreed. “However, our people are made of steel, eh? Not of flesh and blood.”

  “Rather of ash and steel.” I remembered the terrible death of Anders.

  “So sad,” Nikos nodded. “But Master Dante cast a spell on you too, hiding your men from the enemy. We thought we would help you to get back, but you climbed straight up the hill. And you did it well.”

  I shrugged, if not for the help of the Master Sorcerer, we would all have been turned into a handful of ashes.

  A panting scout ran up to us. One look at his face told us something was wrong. “Master Nikos, you should see for yourself!” He pointed to the opposite side of the hill.

  Without delay, we followed the scout.

  From the top of the hill, the whole valley was clearly visible, and below us the human sea wriggled. At first I thought that they were nomads, but a second later I realized that I was mistaken. I saw marching infantry. Three long columns lined up in perfect rectangles. Armour and battle-axes shone in the sun, and triangular black flags fluttered on the wind.

  “Zontrakians!” Nikos gasped. “It looks like the fun has just begun!”

  There was no doubt that the black triangular flags belonged to Zontrakians. The quarrelsome little kingdom of Zontrak lay on the border of the steppes and the civilized world. These neighbours were always feared and mistrusted.

  The Zontrakians were not interested in the steppes; they were more interested in the fertile lands of their southern neighbours. This was not the first time they had entered into an alliance with the nomads. Three hundred years ago, under the command of Khan Khazark, they had ravaged the Six Kingdoms and destroyed six ancient cities.

  Their mercenary troops were well respected throughout the civilized world. These were mighty and fearless warriors. Even a small detachment under that black flag was a force to be reckoned with, and here was a whole army.

  “Shit!” Nikos spat. “Again, those bastards! We must visit them ourselves and raze their stinking kingdom to the ground!”

  Master Dante came up to us. He looked tired. His cheeks were sunken, his eyes red and watery, and his tightened lips bloodless. My heart sank from anxiety.

  “What do we have here?” Master Dante looked down the hill. “Zontrakian trash? This much was to be expected.”

  “It seems that the gods decided to make fun of us,” Nikos said with a grim laugh.

  “The gods don’t care about mere mortals,” the Master Sorcerer said. He turned to me and shook his head, looking at my tattered uniform. “Perhaps Destiny will be gracious to us? What do you say, Marcus Grimm?”

  “I do not know.” I was confused. “Why do you ask me?”

  “You really don’t know?” The sorcerer grinned. “Our acquaintance is not accidental, lad. Or maybe it’s a sign?”

  “You know better.” I just shrugged.

  The Zontrakians were approaching slowly but inexorably. I saw a horseman riding in front of the ranks, perhaps some general.

  “Master, look!” Nikos exclaimed. “It’s Telaris, the chief magician of Khan Khazark.”

  Truly, it was a day of endless surprises. Stretching my neck, I strained my eyes, trying to see the distant rider in front of the Zontrak column.

  The name of Telaris was well known to all, as were his gruesome misdeeds.

  “Is he still alive?” It seemed strange to me. “Did he not die at the Battle of Annu? Three hundred years ago?”

  “As you can see, he is alive and kicking.” Nikos said. “Unless the savages dug up his corpse to carry it before the army. And why not? We too carry the bones of the saints into battle.”

  “It’s him; you’re not mistaken.” Master Dante dropped his hands wearily and went back to the tent.

  Now I could see the legendary mage for myself. He did not ride a horse, as I’d thought at first, he went on foot. He was huge, taller than a warrior on horseback. His lean body was covered from head to toe with fancy tattoos and necklaces instead of armour. On his shoulder he carried a long spear and yellow human skulls were strapped to his belt.

  “The heads of kings!” I cried.

  “Not a bad collection,” Nikos agreed. “Let’s move from here, while we still have a chance.”

  We ran to the tent, close to where the horses were tied. We were
stopped by Master Dante. In one hand he had a scroll, and in the other he held a huge black mace.

  “We still have time, Master,” Nikos said, untying the horses.

  “Wait.” The Master Sorcerer stopped him with a gesture. “We’re staying.”

  I was not surprised. I was even glad. Now I would see with my own eyes a master sorcerer beating the fearsome enemy mage and the entire Zontrak army. It was so exciting! The very stuff of legend.

  It seemed that my thoughts were too easy to read, because Master Dante smiled and Nikos frowned.

  “Take this.” He handed me a scroll. “Deliver it to the king. Take the best horse and go without delay!”

  I was speechless. How could he turn me into a messenger boy on the eve of such a glorious event? I would never forgive myself if I missed this chance.

  “This is very important,” Master Dante said, putting the scroll in my hand. “Don’t worry about us, lad, we can look after ourselves.”

  Nikos walked along the horses that were tied to the hitching post and, with a mysterious smile, patted one of them on the nose.

  “Here is a beast fit for a young wizard,” he said.

  He helped me to pack the scroll and held my horse while I saddled him. Under Master Dante’s command, spearmen lined up on the hill, and one of them winked at me and gave me a thumbs-up.

  “Fly like the wind!” Nikos smiled. “Or even faster, if you can! Otherwise you’ll miss all the fun.”

  I climbed into the saddle and took a last look at my friends with whom I had experienced so much in such a short period of time. The spearmen saluted with their spears, and Master Dante nodded, waving his terrible mace.

  I spurred my horse, and rushed like the wind down towards the royal flags. Towards my destiny.

  I had never ridden so fast. The horse Nikos had chosen for me had belonged to some noble Alim. The harness was so beautiful and elegant that even a girl could wear it and the saddle was inlaid with silver and bone and looked really expensive.

  My horse was racing faster than the wind, his slender legs barely seeming to touch the ground. Master Nikos had indeed made me a royal gift. Soon I began to come across abandoned horses. The road was studded with arrows and littered with dead bodies. Brown and coloured robes; nomads, spearmen, our allies, all mixed up in the bloody mud. I shuddered.

  Suddenly a lone rider appeared out of the ravine. It was a young nomad. A black arrow was jutting out of his horse’s rump. The young warrior’s face was grim, and his arms were bloodied to the elbows. Without looking at me, he kicked the horse with his heels and galloped away, bobbing in the saddle like a broken doll.

  In the distance I saw another little group of fleeing riders. No one pursued them. I squeezed the reins tighter and began to pray.

  The closer I got to our positions, the more corpses were piled everywhere. I even had to pull on the reins and slow down, looking for a safe passage through the rubble.

  Suddenly, a black figure with a strung bow sprouted out of the ground. I realized that whoever it was, friend or foe, he would not hesitate to attack. Crouching, I raised my crossbow, ready to fight.

  “I’ll be damned! It’s our young wizard!” a familiar voice sounded next to my ear.

  I turned around and saw Ash’s grinning face.

  “You’re alive, thank gods!”

  I laughed with relief. These were my old friends.

  “And who is this?” I nodded at the figure with a bow. “Is it Mash?”

  “That’s right.” The old man pulled the scarf off, revealing his face. “And Orvad witness, I’m glad to see you, son!”

  The scouts volunteered to take me to the king and on the way to tell everything that had happened.

  “Right after the explosion,” Ash began, “the bastards decided to finish us off with one heavy blow. Even old Mash chickened out when he saw how many they were.”

  Mash nodded eagerly, looking around carefully while the younger scout was completely immersed in his story.

  “They broke through the archers and crossbowmen, crushing them in the blink of an eye. But our guardsmen were ready to meet them. How many bastards were killed is impossible to count. Unable to move forward, the savages continued to press even harder! I looked around and saw only a sea of heads and sabres stretching to the horizon. Well, I thought, this is the end! Finally, our infantry began to retreat, and our ranks bent in the middle. The savages continued to push like mad.” Ash’s eyes bulged, portraying a scary nomad swinging a curved sabre.

  “The scouts were standing on that hill.” Mash pointed. “Master Dante ordered us to stay away from the fight.”

  “Yes, he did,” Ash confirmed. “But we did not stand idle. You know, our bows are the same as those of the nomads, so their arrows came in handy. We just stacked a whole cartload of them.”

  “Ash ripped all the skin from his fingers,” Mash chuckled. “He shot just like a little boy at the fair!”

  Ash grinned and happily showed me his bandaged fingers. “That’s right … Our troops started to give under the pressure, but then the king himself stepped forward. He breathed in deeply and cried out. I almost crapped myself from fright. You should have seen what happened to the nomads’ horses! They screamed, their eyes bulged, and their legs began to wobble. Our lads immediately pushed forward, levelled the ranks and started to cut the bastards like cabbages.”

  “The nomads were horrified. They crushed a lot of their own,” Mash nodded.

  “You should have seen it!” Ash grinned. “Their horses began to roll on the ground, snorting like mad. And then the Firgan cavalry arrived with their great axes and iron lances.”

  “And halberdiers!” Mash waved his big fist like a halberd.

  “Everything happened so fast!” Ash said. “Before I could look back, it was all over. And then we were sent to rob the dead and finish off the wounded. Can you imagine, in a few minutes, all of our bags were stuffed with booty. Gold, precious cloth, armour and weapons.”

  “Yes, and the wounded”—Mash spat—“they cut their own throats, those sons of whores!”

  “I was offended,” Ash sighed. “Why did they do that? We are not barbarians!”

  I did not have time to tell them about my own adventures. We drove through the picket line, through the ranks of bodyguards, and appeared before the king. The king did not get down from his horse, however.

  Master Keandr looked tired. When he saw me, he frowned even more. I quickly handed him the scroll. Without delay, he began to read.

  Fidgeting impatiently in the saddle, I looked around, trying to find familiar faces. My father and his squire were absent. All the soldiers looked battered; many of them were wrapped in bloody bandages. It seemed the battle had been really fierce.

  Putting aside the dispatch, Master Keandr slammed his fist onto his saddle. “Sound the alarm! We are leaving immediately!” Turning to me, he smiled. “Excuse me, Marcus, I don’t have time for you now, but we’ll talk later.”

  “As you wish, sire.” I was confused. The king was not supposed to apologize to me. “I just brought the dispatch from Master Dante, that’s all.”

  The king smiled warmly, his face even lighting up for a moment. “Our wolf cub has a lion’s heart,” he said. I felt my ears turn red.

  Trumpets blared and the whole camp began to move. The cavalry rode forward, the forest of halberds swayed, and the Royal Guards with huge heavy shields began to form falerman squares.

  “Ifffliiii!” The command was given. “Nooooaaaaah!”

  The soldiers took out their boxes and began to chew, grinding the bitter pills with their teeth.

  “Nooooaaaaah!” Officers walked down the line, checking the soldiers. If they saw blood in someone’s eyes, they touched the unfortunate warrior with a baton, sending him to the rear, where doctors had to neutralize a drug overdose.

  A few minutes later, the cavalry dashed forward, and the infantry, trying to keep up, jogged close behind. Surrounded by scouts on all sides, I rushe
d after the king.

  This time we did not talk. Only a mad gallop – teeth chattering like castanets and muscles cramped from the strain.

  When the hill with the khan’s tent was at hand, our cavalcade stopped abruptly. The infantry arrived a minute later. Without delay, our army began to form into battle formations.

  The signallers waved their flags, giving the last orders. I was following the movements of our troops closely and did not immediately notice the black triangular flags on top of the hill. That could mean only one thing – our soldiers were all dead. But what about Nikos and Master Dante? After all, they were very powerful sorcerers. How could the enemy mage have dealt with them both? All these thoughts flashed through my mind, spreading panic and horror.

  There was complete silence. Only the flags on the hill flapped in the wind. Master Keandr went forward, gesturing for the bodyguards to stay in place. Taking a few steps towards the tent, he threw up his hand with bent fingers. In the same moment, the black flags flared and turned instantly into ghostly curtains of smoke and ash.

  Drums thundered on the hill. Hundreds of drums! The roar was deafening, as if the stone river of Annuvir burst out of the ground.

  I stared at the king, waiting for new miracles. The whole army watched him breathlessly.

  Something stirred on the hill. Row by row, the Zontrakians began to appear on the top. Dark green shields were closed in a long impenetrable wall, and menacing axes flashed above the rows of spiky helmets.

  This time we were in a very poor tactical position. The enemy occupied the top of the hill and was not going to come down. It was dangerous to attack up the hill, but we had no choice. Despite the effect of the miracle drugs, our soldiers were exhausted to the limit. We had to attack now, while we still had some strength. The ranks of our troops were significantly thinned. We were left with no more than a third of our infantry and half of all the cavalry. All our archers and auxiliary light cavalry units had been killed. My father was missing, and the fate of Master Dante also remained unknown.