The Brand of the Warlock

by Robert Kroese

  “The difficulty is that summoning a beast as powerful as Voros Korom requires a great deal of power—power that resides in the blood of a sorcerer. The blood must be fresh, and no sorcerer could expend as much blood as would be required to summon Voros Korom and live. Had it not been for the Purge, I might be able to gather three or four living sorcerers to provide blood for the ritual, but then Voros Korom would answer to a committee, and I would have to contend with the other members for the prize.

  “The only alternative was to sacrifice a single sorcerer, who would be killed once Voros Korom was summoned. I would mingle a little of my blood with that of the primary donor, so that the demon would remain bound to me upon the donor’s death. But few sorcerers remain. Only the most powerful have escaped the Purge, and such men are not easy to subdue. None of them would be fool enough to allow themselves to be led to a place like this.”

  “You, however, present a unique opportunity. I realized that the warlock’s brand had imbued your blood with the power of a sorcerer, but you hadn’t the faintest inkling how to use that power. So I bided my time, slowly rising in the ranks of the arcanist’s office—benefiting on occasion from convenient scandals, accidents and poisonings that seemed to affect those holding positions above me. This accorded with my existing plans, as an important position in the arcanist’s office would give me access to certain information I needed in order to accomplish my goals.

  “Eventually I was appointed chief arcanist, and even then, it took me another year to orchestrate your release. From that point, it was a simple matter of luring you to this place, or bringing you here by force if necessary. I would have approached you sooner, but the wraiths are a nuisance when the moon is full or nearly so. When at last the time was right, I sought you out in the Hidden Quarter, but nearly lost you when you went chasing after a woman at the market. When I saw you running down the alley that led to Eben’s garden, I knew who the woman must be.

  “I’d expected to fight Eben for possession of you, but by the time I made my way through that confounded maze, the battle was over. Eben fled past me toward another exit; if he had turned his head, he would have seen me approaching. Seeing how weak he was, I nearly went after him, but I decided to take advantage of the situation to apprehend you. I called to Ljubo, who was waiting around a corner in the maze, and he carried you to my carriage. Realizing you must have some idea what Eben had done to you, I considered telling you that Eben and I were enemies, but if you knew Eben intended to save Nagyvaros, you might be reluctant to aid me, even though you hated him. From what I’d heard of your exploits, I judged that you thought of yourself as a clever sort, and I surmised I could make use of your conceit. You were so wrapped up in convincing me you were Eben that you didn’t consider that I might be deceiving you as well. Kindly old Radovan. Bah! I’m glad not to have to play that role anymore.”

  I strained angrily at my bonds. Radovan was right: having learned I could fool hoodlums and Torzsek tribesmen, I’d convinced myself it would be no great challenge to hoodwink a doddering old man. My arrogance would cost me my life and doom Beata to an eternity in the shadow world. Wraiths would kill every man, woman and child in Nagyvaros. Evidently Radovan’s claim that the summoning ritual could only be performed during a full moon had been a lie as well.

  Radovan’s speech had not slowed his preparations: while he talked, he had finished mixing ingredients and added the mixture to the braziers. He now lit these with a brand lit from one of the torches, and acrid, sulfurous smoke began to pour forth. While I occupied my mind with fanciful escape plans—I imagined myself springing like a coiled snake from the alter, somersaulting across the floor, somehow getting my rapier partially unsheathed, cutting my bonds and then eviscerating the giant—Radovan unstoppered a vial of some liquid, poured it onto a cloth, and walked over to me. I tried to get my feet under me, but the giant seemed to sense what I was doing and hooked a single finger behind the cords around my ankles and jerked my legs straight. I twisted my neck to the left and right, but it was no use: Radovan clamped the cloth over my mouth and nose, and I couldn’t help but breath in the noxious vapor. I felt the strength leave my body, and my vision grew hazy. Everything was like a dream. I barely noticed when Radovan, having produced a dagger, sliced open my left forearm. There was some poetry to that: it was the same place Eben had cut me six years earlier.

  He spoke a word to Ljubo, who walked silently toward the doorway across the room, turned, and stood like a statue overseeing the ritual. Radovan went to stand before the dais, chanting an incantation. Something in my head told me this was my chance: Radovan had his back to me, and the giant’s senses would be dulled by the smoke and the Radovan’s chanting. The rapier still lay to the side of the circular dais, only about five paces from the altar. I might be able to get to it before the giant could react.

  This proved a fantasy: my appendages responded like indolent servants to the call of a distant and hated master. With a monumental effort I might manage to roll off the dais, but that would be the extent of it. Something warm trickled past my cheek, and I recalled that I was bleeding to death. Probably I’d be dead already if Radovan had cut my jugular, but that would have been messy. It wouldn’t do to have my precious sorcerer’s blood spurting against the walls. Radovan had already made his contribution: he’d sliced his own hand with the dagger and allowed a few drops to fall into the moat.

  I murmured an apology to Beata and to the doomed inhabitants of the city of Nagyvaros, and then said a prayer to Turelem to the effect that if the dying words of a dead man who’d tried to do the right thing more often than not counted for anything, he might see fit to smite Eben the Warlock with some miserable and ultimately fatal pox. I closed my eyes and prepared to die.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Something tickled my palm, and for a moment I was put in mind of the rats that had tried to eat me in Nincs Varazslat. The joke’s on you, I thought; I’ll be dead before you swallow your first bite. Then my wrists came free.

  I tried to bring my hands forward but found them constrained again: someone was holding my wrists. “Wait,” whispered a soft voice in my ear. Someone behind me, hunched down behind the altar? Had he (if it were a he; I couldn’t be certain from the whisper) been there the whole time? No, Ljubo would have sensed him. Then how had he gotten in without being seen? He could not possibly have sneaked through the main door; there must be a secret door behind the altar, or perhaps inside the altar itself.

  I knew the voice from somewhere, but couldn’t think whether it signified a friend or a foe. If it was a foe, I thought, he had come too late to do me much harm, so I didn’t resist. As Radovan continued to chant and the giant stared blankly ahead, I felt someone wrap a cloth tightly around the wound in my wrist and then another, even tighter, around my bicep. A tourniquet, I thought. Whoever this was really did intend to help—or at least keep me alive for the time being.

  My ankles came free next, and I resisted the urge to try to climb off the altar. My one hope was to act in concert with my mysterious savior, and I did not know yet what he intended.

  “I will distract the giant,” he said in my ear. It was definitely a male voice. “You must handle the sorcerer on your own.”

  If I’d been able to speak without drawing attention, I’d have shouted my disapproval of this plan. I was drugged and had lost Turelem-knows-how-much blood. In this state, I was no match even for a doddering old man, and Radovan was not nearly as weak as he’d let on.

  But I had no choice in the matter: a small figure leaped over the altar from behind me, landing before the circular dais. Hearing a disturbance, Radovan ceased his chanting and whirled to face the intruder. But he had no weapon, and the intruder was too fast for him. The figure gave him a push, sending him stumbling backwards into the dais. Radovan tripped and fell to the floor, howling curses. The intruder leaped onto the dais, barely escaping Radovan’s sweeping arm, and then vaulted to the floor just in front of the doorway. The giant reached down
to grab the intruder, but the intruder ducked under his arms and ran out of the room. As he turned the corner, I caught sight of his face in the flickering torchlight: it was the boy, Vili. Thank the Goddess he had not done as I’d bidden and left the ruins!

  The struggle was far from over, though. The giant bounded after Vili, and Radovan regained his feet. Not realizing I’d been untied—or perhaps wagering I was too weak to get up—he recommenced the ritual. But the tourniquet had done the trick: my blood no longer flowed down the channel. Only a trickle had reached the moat so far; surely not enough to summon the beast. Meanwhile, my head had begun to clear. I flexed my fingers behind my back, wincing as I felt the wound reopen. Only my right hand, then. If Vili could just keep the giant distracted for a little longer, and Radovan didn’t notice the flow of blood had stopped, I might regain enough of my strength and senses to best him.

  After a few seconds, though, Radovan glanced at the channel and cursed. Not daring to wait any longer, I swung my legs over the side of the altar and planted my feet on the floor. Radovan cried out and stepped toward me, producing a dagger from inside his cloak. He was between me and the rapier; I had no choice but to face him unarmed. He jabbed at me with the dagger. It was a clumsy blow, but in my handicapped condition it was all I could do to get out of the way. With the next jab, I wasn’t so lucky: it glanced along my ribs under my right arm, opening another wound. I was still too slow to dodge; my only chance was to go on the offensive. I managed to get a hold of his wrist on the next jab. Ordinarily it would have been a simple matter to get him to drop the dagger, but I found myself too weak to execute the maneuver effectively. The effort I’d put forth so far was making my head swim. Blood dripped from my bandage; the tourniquet had slowed the bleeding but not stopped it. I needed to finish this quickly.

  I managed to twist his arm so that the dagger pointed toward him, and he reacted by stepping backwards into the moat. Now with a slight advantage in height, I used my weight to press the attack. His heels came up against the base of the dais and he fell backwards onto it. Realizing he was in dire straits, Radovan squirmed and fought with all his strength, but I was now on top of him. In my weakened state, he was stronger than I, but he couldn’t keep the point of the dagger from slowly moving toward his heart. My head grew fuzzy and my vision narrowed; it took all my will and concentration to push the dagger toward him. He tried at last to let his hand go limp so the dagger would slip from it, but I wrapped both my hands around his and squeezed tightly. He cried out as the point penetrated his flesh, resisting with renewed vigor. My vision had gone black, and I could no longer feel my fingers. I was aware only of the sensation of the blade sliding through the tissues between the sorcerer’s ribs. Then, suddenly, the resistance was gone. A fountain of warm, sticky liquid burst over my hands, and I knew the dagger had found the man’s heart. I let it go and slid aside, crumpling to the floor.

  For some time I knelt there, shaking and panting, my blood-soaked hands adhered to the stone floor. I could not tell how much of the blood was mine, nor how rapidly my blood was still leaving me. I doubted I would have the strength to find my way out of the dungeon, and even if Vili were not killed by the giant, he would be unable to carry me. It would be a poor death: Eben the Warlock still lived and Beata remained imprisoned in the shadow world. My only consolations were that Radovan was dead and the ritual had been arrested.

  But gradually my strength and senses began to return again. Blood flowed from the bandage only in a slow trickle; it had been primarily the exertion that caused me to swoon. I picked up the rapier from where it lay and slowly pulled myself to my feet, leaning on the dais. Radovan lay unmoving on the top of it, his arms and legs splayed, the dagger’s hilt protruding from his chest. From somewhere outside the chamber, I heard a faint scream. Vili.

  I grabbed a torch from the nearest sconce and staggered to the doorway. Ahead lay the hall through which Ljubo had carried me; to my left was a narrower passageway through which Vili had fled. I went left.

  After twenty paces or so, I came to a fork. Pausing to listen, I heard nothing from either direction, so I picked a passage at random. I did the same at the next fork, and the next, and soon I was lost. I hadn’t had the presence of mind to stick to any sort of system, nor even to remember which option I’d picked at each of the forks. I might still find my way back to the exit, but my wits were dulling further with every passing minute. If I went any deeper into the dungeon, I would never get out.

  I heard another cry, closer this time, coming from a passageway to my right. I hesitated. There was probably nothing I could do to help Vili, and if I went after him now, I would never have a chance to kill Eben. Beata would be lost in the shadow world for all eternity. But I could not make myself leave Vili to face the giant alone. I followed the sound of his cries deeper into the dungeon.

  Suddenly I found myself in a chamber whose walls and ceiling were lost in the darkness. Was it the same place I’d been apprehended by Ljubo? There was no way to know. I’d made so many twists and turns that I might be back where I’d started—or a quarter-mile away.

  “Konrad!” shouted a voice from the darkness.

  “Vili! Where are you?”

  “Stay still. I’m coming to you.” A moment later, I saw him approaching.

  “Where is the giant?” I asked.

  “I think I’ve lost him.” He stopped a few paces from me.

  “How the devil did you find your way without a torch?”

  Vili shrugged. “I’ve spent so much time here, I can find my way by touch. I only needed to get to a passage too narrow for the giant to pass. You do not look well.”

  “I left a fair amount of my blood in that room. Do you know the way out?”

  “Yes. Follow me. We must hurry, because if the giant realizes he is stymied, he may be able to retrace his steps and—”

  A chalk white face came at me from the gloom.

  “Vili, down!” I cried, shifting the torch to my left hand and drawing my rapier.

  Vili ducked as Ljubo’s huge fist swung over him. I swung my rapier, causing the giant to take a step back. Vili scurried out of the way.

  “Get to the exit!” I shouted, pointing the rapier at the giant. I hoped Ljubo would attack quickly, as my vision was growing dim again, and I could barely keep my grip on the torch. I doubted I had the speed or strength to drive the blade into his belly, but if he swung wildly again, I might get lucky and nick a vein. He would still kill me, but Vili could escape.

  The giant must have sensed that time was on his side; he came at me slowly and deliberately, not giving me any obvious targets. I had maybe two or three good swings in me, and I didn’t dare waste them. I retreated. I could no longer see Vili; I hoped he was on his way to the exit.

  There was a dull thud like a wooden hammer on a slab of meat. Ljubo gave a small grunt but otherwise didn’t react. He stepped toward me, and I retreated again. I heard the thudding sound again, and this time the giant grimaced in annoyance. He turned, and for a moment the torchlight illuminated Vili, holding a stone nearly the size of his head. He was throwing rocks at the giant! Or, more precisely, having found a single small boulder, he was throwing it at the giant’s back over and over. It was incredibly stupid and one of the braver things I’d seen a person do. The giant swept at him with his huge fist, and Vili, weighed down by the boulder, couldn’t get out of the way. The fist struck him on the shoulder and he was thrown to the ground.

  Vili’s diversion gave me just enough time to strike. I stabbed at Ljubo’s side while he was still turned, hoping to hit a kidney. But the giant’s skin was like leather; the delicate rapier slid alongside him, opening only a shallow laceration. Blood that looked as thick and black as tar oozed from the wound. Ljubo turned toward me, his face contorted with rage, bringing back his fist to strike. I threw my torch at his face and then gripped the rapier with both hands and sliced downward with all the strength I could muster. The torch bounced harmlessly off the giant’s forehead,
landing a few feet away. The point of the blade skittered diagonally across the giant’s chest, opening another shallow gash. Good, I thought sardonically to myself. Another twenty or thirty blows like that and he’ll be in real trouble.

  “Konrad, get down!” Vili cried from somewhere in the darkness. I didn’t see what good that would do, but I doubted it would do any harm, and I was so tired that a moment’s respite seemed like a fine idea. I fell to all fours, still holding the rapier weakly in my hand. As I was about to close my eyes, I became aware of a strange red glow on my hands. The torch? No, the light was the wrong color, and came from the wrong direction. Looking up, I saw Ljubo was now framed by a crimson halo.

  I might have thought this was the manifestation of some arcane ability possessed by members of whatever race claimed Ljubo, except that he seemed as surprised by it as I was. His brow furrowed as he observed his own shadow flickering across the stone floor, pursued by the ominous red glow. Ljubo realized the truth before I did, turning to see what was bearing down on him. My view was obscured, so I saw nothing until the giant was thrown bodily across the chamber, soaring some thirty feet before tumbling to a halt.