The Brand of the Warlock

by Robert Kroese

  The labyrinth was now nearly opaque on Beata’s face, and I felt myself growing weaker. A few seconds more and I wouldn’t have the strength to resist. I cried out and fell sideways off the bench, breaking her grip. She glared at me angrily. Her palm dripped with blood—more blood than could possibly have come from my knuckles. She had cut herself to allow our blood to mingle together. The bloody handkerchief rested on her lap, along with a small razor. This had all been planned. I’d even done some of the work for her, abrading my own knuckles so she didn’t have to cut me.

  She stood up and I got to my feet, drawing my rapier. “Who are you?” I demanded.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The anger in Beata’s face disappeared, replaced by the faux concern of a moment earlier. The brand was gone.

  “Konrad, please. It’s the only way. You have to let me take the brand.”

  “My Beata would never ask me to do that.”

  “It will destroy you, Konrad. I learned about such things while you were in Nincs Varazslat. I can control it.”

  “Control it? What are you talking about? Of only one thing am I certain: you are not Beata.”

  Grim determination returned to her face. “As you say, Konrad, you are meddling in things you don’t understand. That brand is not a disfigurement. It’s the key to great power.”

  “Perhaps you should have thought about that before giving it to a stranger in an alley, Eben.” I held the rapier before me.

  Beata’s face smiled. “There’s the clever lad I’ve been waiting for. Being a sorcerer requires more than cleverness, though. You haven’t the stomach for it.”

  “What have you done with Beata?”

  “She’s gone, Konrad. You understand, I had no choice. The acolyte’s men had me cornered. I’d have bled to death on the way to Nincs Varazslat. I needed a vessel.”

  “So you took Beata’s body. And gave me your brand to throw the acolytes off the trail.”

  “I must confess, that part was an accident. I had meant to take your body, but I was addled and botched the incantation. You ended up with the brand but my spirit remained in the previous vessel. Transferring it to the girl was my only chance.”

  “You’re a coward, trading your life for hers.”

  “It’s not a matter of cowardice. My life is worth more than some silly farm girl’s. The evil that stalks Nagyvaros is real, Konrad. From what I gather about your adventures as an ersatz sorcerer, you know something of what I speak.”

  “The wraiths at Romok? They have no power outside the Maganyos Valley.”

  “You are mistaken. It is true that they are constrained to the vicinity of the ruins for now, but they await the coming of one who will release them from their bonds. Are you the one to vanquish that foul beast, Konrad? Will you defeat it with your rapier or perhaps persuade it with smooth words into passing on to the next town? Your tricks may suffice to garner a few ermes from the local rubes and ignorant tribesmen, but you have never faced true evil.”

  “I’m starting to think I have.”

  Beata laughed. “Evil? I? Dear lad, I’m the only hope the unfortunate denizens of this city have against the forces that would raze it to the ground for its treasures. But I will need all of my power to do it. Give me the brand.”

  “Take it if you can.”

  She sighed. “As you wish.” Beata held out her hand, squeezing her fist tightly. Beata’s eyes went blank, as if Eben’s spirit were now elsewhere. It occurred to me that he had gone to the shadow world. A drop of blood fell from Beata’s little finger but seemed to disappear as it hit the ground. Beata took a step back, and I moved toward her, rapier in hand. I wondered if Beata was truly gone. I wasn’t sure I could bring myself to strike her down.

  Before I could reach her, a cloud of black smoke began to roil from the ground where the blood had fallen. The smoke billowed into a massive column and, rather than dissipating, seemed to congeal into a vaguely human-like form. The beast towered over me, a great horned goat-like head fixing its fiery red eyes on me. Six massive arms, three on each side of a torso like the body of a huge bull, reached toward me with four-fingered hands that terminated in bony black claws. The thing stood on two thick, squat, reptilian legs. It opened its maw and howled a cry like those I’d heard so many times echoing in the crags of the shadow world. I smelled sulfur and felt waves of heat emanating from the beast. I wondered if it was a beast like this that had killed the acolyte. My rapier was like a toy to it; I may as well have attacked it with a feather.

  By all rights, I should have been terrified, but instead I was overcome with rage. There was nothing this creature could do to me to match what I’d already been though. The very hell from which it was spawned had once been a place of respite for me! It might kill me, but I would not cower before it. I would not give any satisfaction to the warlock, who had stolen both my life and the woman I loved. I would let the beast kill me and destroy the brand along with me. Dropping the rapier to my side, I faced it, opening my mouth to growl at it in its own bestial tongue. Clenching my fists at my sides, I stared straight into the thing’s flaming red eyes and dared it to destroy me.

  The beast hesitated. For a moment I thought it was only savoring its victory, but I quickly realized that it was—what? Confused? Frightened? Yes, despite its size and terrible appearance, the creature evinced the same demeanor as the prosecutor and the warden. It was afraid of me. But why?

  A glance at the warlock gave me a clue: his expression was that of a man who’d overplayed his hand. He’d been bluffing, hoping my fear of the beast would convince me to allow him to take the brand. But then… was the beast only an illusion? No, an illusion would not have shown fear. It was real enough, but it lacked the power to kill me. If a beast like this had killed the acolyte, why couldn’t it kill me?

  I smiled as the answer hit me: the brand. For good or ill, it marked me as a sorcerer, and the beast feared that I had the means to punish it in some way—or perhaps it was somehow physically restrained from harming a man with such a brand. No matter; I was saved.

  Eben had begun some new incantation, and I rushed toward him. The beast gave an angry howl and disappeared; I realized the warlock had only been sending the impotent creature back to the shadow world, probably out of fear it would turn on him. Beata’s face had gone stark white, and for a moment I thought I might subdue the warlock without harming her.

  In my anger, though, I had forgotten my own weakness. Eben’s attempt to take the brand had nearly killed me, and suddenly a wave of dizziness swept over me.

  Eben, now only two paces away, hesitated. I could see that he was considering whether he had the strength to defeat me without sorcery. I glared at him, barely able to stand, my entire body trembling. After a moment, he seemed to think better of it; he turned and ran, disappearing into the maze.

  It was not a moment too soon: had he pressed the attack, he surely would have bested me. I staggered and dropped to my knees. My fingers and toes had gone numb; I could feel the vitality leaving my body. Soon I would lose consciousness, and if I ever revived, I doubted I would have the strength or presence of mind to find my way out of the maze. Would anyone find me? Did anyone else know about this secret enclave? I seemed to be completely alone. Eventually Eben would return to take back his brand, and this time he would succeed. I knew I would not survive the process; the only question was whether my spirit would be annihilated or merely exiled to the shadow world. I wondered if I would find Beata there.

  I heard something brush against a hedge somewhere behind me and thought for a moment Eben had returned. But an old man approached and crouched down at my side. He helped me to sit up, putting his arm around my shoulders to support me. With his other hand he produced a vial of liquid, which he pressed to my lips. Thinking that I was dead in any case if this man meant me harm, I swallowed the elixir. It burned my throat, but soon some of my strength returned. Affixing my eyes on the man, I saw him to be perhaps seventy, with a wiry gray moustache and beard
and ruddy, weathered features. Other than his simple brown cloak, which I thought should have been purple and perhaps adorned with astrological symbols, he looked exactly as I might have imagined a sorcerer to look. Seeing me scanning his features, he said, “Eben, are you all right? Don’t you recognize me? It is I, your old friend Radovan.”

  Radovan, I thought. I didn’t know the name, but it piqued a memory anyway. The letter, I thought. It had been signed “Your friend, R.” So this was my mysterious deliverer. And now he had saved me twice—the only trouble being that he still thought me to be someone else. There was nothing for it, though: the warmth of the elixir washed over me, and suddenly I felt very tired. My eyes closed and I fell asleep.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I awoke in a bed so large and comfortable that at first I thought I must still be dreaming. Sitting up, I found myself to be in a pleasant, well-appointed bedroom. I was undressed; my clothes lay folded on a nearby bureau, next to a wash basin. My rapier lay in its scabbard on a table across the room, along with my pack.

  I got out bed and got dressed. There was a single window in the room; I pulled back the curtains to find that I was on the upper floor of a building that overlooked a rolling pasture. A narrow track led over a hill; I saw no other buildings, and there seemed to be no people or animals about. My head began to clear, and the vividness of the evidence brought to me by my senses convinced me that I was not dreaming. But where was I? How had I gotten here?

  Trying to reconstruct the events of the previous day, I was struck by a vision of Beata in the garden. My Beata! I had been close enough to touch her, but something had gone wrong. It hadn’t been Beata at all, but only someone else wearing her body as one might wear a cloak. The warlock, Eben. Fury overcame me at the thought. Was Beata still in that body as well, her will subordinated to that of the warlock? Or had she been exiled to the shadow world? If there was any way to save her, I would find it. And I would kill Eben the Warlock.

  I strapped on the rapier and tried the door. It opened into a hallway. Across the hall was another door; to the right was another small window overlooking the pasture. To the right were stairs leading down to the first floor. From below I heard humming and the clink of dishes. I crept silently toward the stairs, my hand on the hilt of the rapier, and then made my way gingerly down.

  The stairs led to the great room of what appeared to be a fair-sized cottage. A fire burned in the hearth ahead of me; to my left the old man who had rescued me, Radovan, was puttering over something in the kitchen.

  “Do you care for breakfast?” he asked, without turning my way. “There is toast and tea, and a little cheese. I’m afraid I don’t come to this cottage often, so I have only what I brought with me.”

  I suddenly felt very foolish wearing my rapier and surreptitiously unstrapped it. My efforts to get information out of Radovan depended on my ability to sustain the illusion that I was Eben. “What is this place?” I asked, forgetting that Eben may have been to the cottage before. The slip seemed to go unnoticed.

  “A little estate I keep south of the city,” Radovan said. “It’s actually in Torzsek territory, but the Torzseki go where their animals go, and I’ve set up wards on the paths that dissuade cattle from coming this way. No one else approaches for fear of the Torzseki, so the place may as well be invisible.”

  Radovan turned just as I leaned the rapier against the wall. Radovan, bearing a plate of buttered toast and cheese, seemed to take no notice of it. He motioned toward a simple square table, and I sat down. He set the plate in front of me and then fetched a cup of tea. He watched with a curious look on his face while I scarfed down the food; the previous day’s struggle had left me famished. If Radovan was a friend of Eben’s, he was no friend of mine, but I thought I might as well take advantage of his hospitality while I plied him for information about Eben.

  “You’ve taken on a new vessel,” Radovan said matter-of-factly.

  I shrugged, trying to seem nonchalant. “I was injured and being pursued by an acolyte. I had little choice.” Evidently Radovan was aware of Eben’s ability to transfer his spirit from one body to another. I wondered how many times had Eben had pulled this trick in the past: perhaps the man I had seen was the tenth or the thousandth vessel Eben had acquired. Radovan was also familiar with Eben’s brand, but apparently did not know the brand could be transferred as well; he seemed to have no doubts I was the warlock.

  Radovan frowned at my response. “Yet you were still apprehended?”

  “I apologize if my arrest was inconvenient for you,” I snapped. Eben didn’t seem the sort to enjoy having his competence questioned.

  Radovan chuckled, but beneath his amiable manner was something else: he was afraid of Eben. “It’s all right, old friend,” he said. “I’m sorry it took so long to get you out. Even the chief arcanist of Nagyvaros cannot get a sorcerer released from Nincs Varazslat without facing some difficult questions. I had to call in every favor I was owed and then some, and there may still be repercussions if the warden starts asking questions of the right people.”

  “I hope you did not compromise yourself on my behalf.”

  “It is of no great importance at this point; to be honest, part of the reason it took me so long was that I didn’t dare put the plan into action until I was certain I had the information we needed.”

  While I chewed my toast, I considered whether Eben would be angered by Radovan’s confession. I decided not: whatever Eben and Radovan were planning, it trumped Eben’s personal comfort. “You did the right thing,” I said. “I take it you were successful?”

  Radovan nodded, seeming relieved at my answer. “Indeed, I have determined the precise requirements of the summoning ritual. More importantly, I have discovered how to thwart it. With your help, I believe we can still save Nagyvaros.”

  Eben had also spoken of saving Nagyvaros. He had said “one was coming” who would release the wraiths from their bonds. Was the purpose of the ritual Radovan spoke of to summon this monster from the shadow world, so that the wraiths could be freed from Romok? If so, I certainly approved of the sorcerers’ goals, if not their tactics. I shuddered to think of those ghastly creatures running amok through the streets of Nagyvaros. It didn’t justify what Eben had done to Beata, nor even what he had done to me, but I could understand how a man could be tempted to do such evil, if his goal was to save an entire city from the horrors of Romok.

  “That is good to hear,” I said. “I was afraid we had run out of time.” It seemed a safe thing to say.

  Radovan shook his head. “The ritual must be performed at the full moon, and the Servants of Shadow have only just procured all the materials they will need. To thwart them, we only need to perform a counter-ritual to place a binding ward on Romok.”

  “Then we must travel to Romok,” I said flatly. I might be asking a question or merely stating a fact.

  “Indeed. But do not worry; we will go tonight, while the moon is still just a sliver. The wraiths have no power at this time of the cycle, and the acolytes will not be expecting us to act so soon. Are you up to traveling? You did not look well when I found you.”

  “Much better, thank you,” I muttered, as if I were embarrassed of the incident. The truth was, I’d been hoping Radovan wouldn’t ask for an explanation for the enervated state in which he’d found me. What could I say? A summoning had gone wrong? I’d managed to impersonate a warlock among those who didn’t know any better, but I doubted my ability to fool another sorcerer. The less I said about such things, the better. I ventured a less dangerous question: “How did you find me?”

  “I’d heard you’d been seen around the Hidden Quarter. Asking about some girl?” Before I could formulate a response, he hurriedly went on, “It’s none of my business, of course. I mean only to say that when I heard you were in the Hidden Quarter, I thought you might return to your old enclave. So I tried the secret door you showed me, made my way through the maze—had a devil of a time remembering the way, mind you—and found y
ou half-dead at the center of it. I heard… no, never mind. The important thing is that I reached you in time.”

  “What did you hear?”

  Radovan bit his lip and then went on, “I heard a howl like one of those creatures you used to sometimes summon when you were young and foolish. I had thought… well, I knew you had been looking for a woman, and the thought occurred to me that perhaps you had found her, and that she had been unfaithful to you or committed some other offense. I thought perhaps you had summoned a beast from Veszedelem to punish her, and in your haste had made a mistake in the incantation, prompting the thing to turn on you. Again, it is none of my business. I knew of your dabbling in the dark side of our art when we began our partnership; indeed, your knowledge is the only reason we have been able to hold back the demons until now. I do wish, however, you’d be more careful.”

  I tried to affect anger at Radovan for his impertinence, but found myself unable to muster it. I had been trying to find a way to get him to tell me more about the ramifications of Eben taking on a “new vessel,” but I couldn’t think of a way to broach the subject without raising suspicion. “I appreciate your concern, old friend,” I said. “You needn’t worry about any more impetuousness from me.”

  Radovan smiled at this. I felt a little sorry for the man, having been forced by necessity into a partnership with a devious warlock like Eben. It was obvious he was very worried about angering me; so relieved was he that I didn’t excoriate him for every offense that he didn’t seem to notice the degree to which his “old friend” had mellowed. Perhaps he hoped Eben’s time in Nincs Varazslat had softened him.