The Brand of the Warlock

by Robert Kroese

  Vili nodded.

  “Take this.” I reached into my purse and produced an erme, which I gave to the boy. “Go to an inn called the Lazy Crow, in the Hidden Quarter of Nagyvaros. If you give that to the innkeeper, she will let you sleep in the common room for the night and give you breakfast in the morning. You may tell her Konrad sent you if you like, although I don’t know that the innkeeper will do you any favors on my account. I will return there tomorrow around dusk. If you are there, I will pay the innkeeper for you to stay there for another month.”

  Vili’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why are you doing this?”

  “It is in my interest. We will meet at the inn on the morning of the day after the next full moon. If no more livestock have gone missing, I will pay you another ten ermes.”

  “How will I live in the meantime?”

  “That is not my concern. You are an enterprising boy; perhaps you can wash dishes at the inn in exchange for meals or try your hand at pickpocketing. I don’t care, as long as you don’t steal any more animals.”

  “And after that?”

  “We will see. My employer has charged me with keeping the ruins free of sheep thieves for the next month.”

  “Your employer is Count Hildemar?”

  “It is no concern of yours.”

  “The Torzseki, then. They are not worried about the wraiths?”

  “As you say, the wraiths are predictable. They never go beyond the floor of the valley?”

  “Never, and they only go as far as they did tonight during the full moon. In truth, it seems as if something provoked them tonight. I have never seen so many of them, nor so agitated.”

  “And they do not molest the animals?”

  “They have no interest in sheep or cattle. They prey only on men. In any case, animals stay away from the ruins.”

  “Good. If it is as you say, then all you need to do to earn your reward is to avoid killing any sheep for the next month, which should be easy enough if you are staying at the inn.”

  Vili nodded but did not reply. I thought it best not to press the matter. I could not guard the ruins for a month, and if ten ermes didn’t entice him to stay away, then a hundred probably wouldn’t either. He had shown no great interest in the money.

  “Can you walk?” I asked. “You seem assured of the wraiths’ limitations, but I am not yet inured to their presence.”

  I helped Vili to his feet and we walked another hundred paces or so to the west. “My horse is up above,” I said. “I’m concerned that she may have been spooked by the sounds from the valley. Are you able to climb?”

  Vili shook his head. “I will rest here a while.”

  “All right,” I said, expecting as much. “I will see you at the inn tomorrow.” I turned and made my way up the ravine.

  Half an hour later, I found Ember still secured to her stake. She regarded me with a pained expression, as if I were returning from some festivities to which she had not been invited. “You didn’t miss anything of importance, girl,” I said. “Let’s get some sleep.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Early the next morning I set off for the southern road and then followed it south. My fingers still tingled and my shoulder ached, but I was otherwise well. After about an hour, I was intercepted by a group of six Torzseki on horseback. The leader inspected my face, determined I was the man they were looking for, and then escorted me another league to the southeast. We came to the Torzsek camp, a semi-permanent settlement of several hundred tents and grass huts. I was brought directly to a large hut near the center of a camp and told to wait for the chief. The Torzseki told me they’d tend to Ember; I murmured a word of reassurance to her and then went inside the hut.

  The chief, a compact, muscular man of about forty years, walked into the hut a few minutes later, without a bodyguard or any sort of fanfare. He bade me to sit on one of the cushions resting on a floor of loose grass, and I did so. He sat across from me. A moment later, another man entered, carrying a tray holding two large ceramic cups and thin wafers of bread. The cups held the bitter root tea the Torzseki drank on all occasions; the wafers were what they call Seta Keksz, or “walking biscuit.” I sipped at the tea out of politeness. Torzsek tea has a pungent odor like horse manure, and I am not entirely certain the similarity is coincidental.

  “I am Chief Nebojsa,” he said, matter-of-factly, popping a biscuit into his mouth. “You are the sorcerer?”

  “I’m the man your lieutenant Davor contracted to investigate the ruins,” I said. “I have just come from there.”

  “What did you find?”

  “The place is indeed haunted by wraiths of a particularly dangerous sort,” I said. “However, I was able to commune with them, and we have come to an agreement.”

  The chief frowned. “Then the wraiths have not been vanquished?” He talked with his mouth full of biscuits and tea; the Torzseki are not known for their table manners.

  “Vanquishing wraiths of this sort from the source of their power is no small feat.”

  “It is beyond your capabilities?”

  “I do not say that; only that beings from the shadow world must be dealt with on their own terms. There is a cost for such an action, and it is not a cost I care to pay at present.”

  A disgusted scowl came over the chief’s face. “You haggle for more money?”

  I shook my head. “I do not make myself clear. The fee is amenable to me, and I believe I can offer you a satisfactory result without vanquishing the wraiths. I explained to them the consternation the loss of the animals has caused and hinted that further losses will provoke the local aristocrats to raise an army of men with chisels and levers to complete the destruction of the temple so that no hiding places remain. The wraiths, being immaterial, need no tunnels or hidey-holes, of course, but the ruins are sacred to them. They do not hunger for meat; they kill animals out of amusement. Once they understood the consequences of their frivolity, they were quite willing to desist.”

  “But they will still haunt the ruins?”

  “It is their home, and they are powerless to leave it. Oh, by engaging in some complex negotiations in the shadow world, I could arrange for them to take up residence elsewhere, but it is hardly worth the trouble. They are capable of leaving the ruins only a few days around the full moon, and even then they can barely reach the foot of the ravine before their power leaves them. Tell your herdsmen that their animals are safe, and that the herdsmen themselves are safe as long as they avoid the vicinity of the ruins when the moon is near its fullness.”

  The chief still did not seem pleased with this, so I went on: “What have you lost to these wraiths?”

  “Our tribe has lost nothing so far, save for the cattle that died on the trek south of the hills. The local shepherds have lost several sheep.”

  “A few animals,” I said. “How much have the Torzseki lost to the Szaszoki?” The Szaszoki were the people who had settled Nagyvaros and the surrounding area. They rarely referred to themselves by that term anymore, but it was how the “civilized” people of the plain were known to the Torzseki.

  “We are at peace with the Szaszoki.”

  “You are allied with the Szaszoki against the Barbaroki. In reality, you act as a buffer against a Barbarok assault on Nagyvaros, but you receive little in return. If I am not mistaken, the Maganyos Valley was Torzsek territory until it was taken by the Szaszoki. The Torzseki need the valley; it is only your current alliance with Nagyvaros against the Barbaroki that forestalls war over it. You know very well, however, that the war will come, and at this point the outcome is by no means certain. Now let me ask you, when fighting comes to Maganyos Valley, would it not be possible for a third force, hostile to both sides, to tip the balance of the conflict, particularly if the limitations of this third force were known to you?”

  As I spoke, a smile crept over the chief’s face as he imagined terrified legions of Szaszoki pinned between Torzsek warriors on horseback and the ruins of Romok during the night o
f a full moon. “It is not the resolution I had hoped for,” he said, “but I think it will do. You will have your payment of two hundred ermes, assuming no more animals are taken by the wraiths. Davor tells me you do not want the advance?”

  I shook my head. “I will take payment in full in one month.” I wished I was as certain as I sounded. Perhaps I should have offered Vili twenty ermes after all. It would be a shame to scuttle the deal over such a small sum, particularly since I did not want Chief Nebojsa as an enemy.

  The chief, thinking I had been up all night engaged in negotiations with the wraiths, offered to let me stay the night at his camp, but I demurred. The truth was that I’d only gotten a few hours of restless sleep curled up next to Ember; my dreams had been haunted by visions of the shadow world and incomprehensible murmurings in the language of the wraiths. I thanked him and told him I would return the day after the next full moon.

  I returned to the Lazy Crow just before nightfall. Vili was not there, and the innkeeper hadn’t seen anyone of his description. I stayed up until I was nodding off in my beer, left an erme with the innkeeper in case Vili showed up, and then went upstairs and went to bed.

  The next day I waited at the inn until almost noon and then reluctantly resumed my search for Beata. By this time I was almost certain my inquiries were pointless; I’d visited every shopkeeper in the Hidden Quarter and every inn and tavern in Nagyvaros. No one had seen a woman matching Beata’s description, and no one could tell me anything more of the events of her disappearance. I forced myself to continue my inquiries, but I was now determined to leave Nagyvaros as soon as I’d collected my bounty from Chief Nebojsa. I would visit Beata’s aunt and then, if that availed nothing, continue east in an attempt to find the probably mythical sorcerers’ sanctuary, Magas Komaron.

  It was nearly dusk when, tired and dirty, I spotted a young woman in a tattered gray dress examining the wares of a man selling onions on a street corner only three blocks from the Lazy Crow. Her hair was completely covered by a brown silk scarf, but there could be no question: it was Beata. She was perhaps fifty paces away, on the opposite side of the street. I called out to her, but she didn’t seem to hear. She gave the onion merchant a nod, turned her back to me, and walked away. She disappeared around a corner into an alley. I ran after her.

  When I reached the alley, she was nowhere to be seen. I ran down the alley, which ended in a T, the far end of which was the stone retaining wall that marked the northern edge of the Hidden Quarter. Reaching the wall, I glanced right and saw that the alley curved back toward the market. Looking left, I saw Beata about halfway to a wooden door at the far end of the alley, about fifty paces away. I ran toward her, but the alley sloped down and then back up, and for a moment I lost sight of her as she passed behind a low overpass. When I could see the entire valley again, she had vanished. I ran to the door and found it locked.

  At first I thought I’d been thwarted, but it occurred to me that there was no way Beata could have reached the door in the time she was obscured from my view. She had left the alley some other way. I retraced my steps, identifying a stretch of about ten paces where she might have exited. The wall to the south was sheer brick and nearly ten feet high; the street was cobblestone. This section of the retaining wall was covered with plaster frescoes—an unusual embellishment in the Hidden Quarter. There were seven scenes altogether. As I faced the wall, to my left was a hunting scene and to my right was a depiction of trading boats coming down the Zold. The scenes were framed by fluted columns which supported lintels decorated with intricately designed flowers. Between each two was a section of bare plaster, perhaps two feet wide. Feeling along the outside of the column bordering the scene on my right, I noted a minute break in the plaster, and then another about three inches lower. I pressed on the section of plaster delineated by the lines and heard a small click. I put my other hand on the wall between the two scenes and pushed. A door swung open.

  I slipped through it and found myself at the end of a passage formed by two tall juniper hedges. The passage extended some twenty paces ahead before branching into a T. No light penetrated the barrier on either side of me; above me I saw only the slate gray sky. Beneath my feet was a lawn of thick fescue. Where the devil was I? Some concealed enclave off the edge of the Hidden Quarter? How did Beata know of this place? Was she trying to evade me?

  Having nothing with which to prop open the heavy door, which seemed to be constructed of a single slab of granite coated with plaster, I let it swing shut behind me on its heavy iron hinges. It made not a sound. I drew my rapier and proceeded down the corridor. Reaching the far end, I saw that the passages to the left and right both branched off into other corridors: I was in a maze. I cursed my predicament. Someone was playing games with me. Had it really been Beata I had seen? Why would she lead me here? Had someone put her up to it? It seemed unlikely I had happened upon this enclave by chance: someone had intended for me to come.

  I considered calling out but rejected the idea. I wasn’t a wounded animal in a trap; I wasn’t going to put on a show for the amusement of whoever had orchestrated this. I cautiously thrust the point of my rapier through the hedge; after a span or so it hit something like brick. So much for hacking through the maze; the only way to the other side was through.

  I spent a frustrating half-hour making my way through the maze. I knew full well that my tormenter intended to exasperate me, but I fell victim to exasperation anyway. If it hadn’t been for my maddening proximity to Beata, I might have managed the experience with more equanimity, but I’m afraid I made a poor show of it, cursing profusely and occasionally hacking at the hedges with my rapier. At one point, my right hand raked against a thick bough and blood began to well up at my knuckles. Finally I came out into a small, pleasant garden with a small fountain in the middle of it. On a bench next to the fountain sat Beata. In her left hand she clutched a handkerchief, and I wondered if she had been crying.

  She looked somewhat older and more tired than when I had left her six years earlier (not that I had any leeway to comment on appearances), but it was definitely Beata. She greeted me with a pained smile as I emerged from the maze. It was clear that she recognized me. Panting from exertion and dumb with surprise, I stood staring at her for several awkward seconds. At last she spoke.

  “I’m sorry for all this, Konrad,” she said. “I had to get you someplace where we could be alone.”

  It seemed a ludicrous explanation. “What happened to you? What is this place?”

  “Just a place I come to be alone. Much has happened since you were arrested, Konrad. It will be difficult to explain. Please, sit next to me.”

  Remembering my appearance, I sheathed the rapier and held a hand in front of my face. “Perhaps it would be better if I kept my distance,” I ventured.

  “Don’t be silly,” she said. “I want to see you.”

  I reluctantly moved toward her and sat down. She had taken off the scarf; despite the slight change in her appearance, she was as beautiful as ever. Knowing it must be difficult for her, I averted my eyes.

  “You don’t want to look at me?” she asked.

  “I want nothing more, but I don’t want you to feel obliged to look at me. My face… something happened that night….”

  “I know all about it.”

  “You do?”

  She nodded somberly. “As I said, much has happened. I have learned a great deal since that night. I never stopped looking for you, you know. And when I found out you were in that horrible dungeon, I did what I could to get you out, but there just wasn’t any way.”

  “Then you had nothing to do with my release?”

  “No. In fact, I was out of the city on some business and only learned about your release when I returned yesterday. I heard about a man with a disfigured face asking about me, and I deduced what had happened. The warlock, Eben, transferred his brand to you in a desperate attempt to evade capture. I had never understood how they could have mistaken you for him, but now it mak
es sense. It also explains why I have been unable to locate Eben these last six years.”

  “You have been looking for the warlock?”

  “There is much I must explain to you, but there is little time. As long as you wear that brand, you are in great danger.”

  “What do you mean? Please, Beata, I feel as if I’m going mad. After all that I’ve experienced, and then to find you, and then nearly lose you again in this accursed maze… and now, to have you speak of warlocks and sorcery as easily as you used to talk to me about declensions and infinitives… I know nothing of sorcery, Beata! I’m like a dog who has been given the form of a horse and is suddenly expected to chew grass and bear riders from town to town. I’ve been playing the part of a sorcerer since my release—no, even before my release. Do you know that while I was still in Nincs Varazslat, I warned the prosecutor of the rise of a terrible warlock called Jagr?”

  Beata shook her head. “Jagr is of no great concern. Before we do anything else, we must remove your brand.”

  “And you know how to do this?”

  “I think I have an idea. But you will have to trust me. Do you trust me, Konrad?”

  “Of course! I have thought of little else but your wellbeing for the past six years!”

  “Look at me, Konrad.” She put her hand on my face, directing me to look into her eyes. I almost couldn’t bear the thought of her seeing my disfigurement so close, but I met her gaze. Once I did so, I found it impossible to look away. My Beata, so close after such a long and painful absence! I did not even look down as she gripped my hand, although the pressure of her fingers hurt my knuckles where they’d scraped the hedge.

  As much as I wished to lose myself in that moment, however, I found myself troubled. It was something Beata had said. Her reaction to my joke about Jagr. She should have laughed, seeing the absurdity of a dimwitted criminal like Jagr being pursued as if he were a cunning sorcerer. But she’d taken the remark seriously.

  As I watched her face, a change came over her. It wasn’t only her countenance, which now showed only grim determination in place of kindness; dark lines had begun to appear on her face. She was taking the mark onto herself. Cold surged through my body, and for a moment I was back in the shadow world. It was the first time I’d returned since my release, and I found the bleak landscape strangely reassuring. I did not linger, forcing my consciousness back to the garden.