Crimes Against Magic (Hellequin Chronicles Book 1)

by Steve McHugh

  "Mordred," I seethed with anger as my glyphs burnt brightly.

  He gave us a wicked smiled. He'd grown a long dark beard since I'd last seen him, plaiting the ends into several individual strands. He'd also shaved his head bald. His red eyes were a product of the type of magic he used exclusively. "Nathanial," he whispered. My name sounded wrong against his lips, and that infuriated me all the more. "This is where I take my leave."

  I unleashed a torrent of flame at Mordred, but he darted from the door, vanishing into the village. The heat from the fire caused the perfume bottles to crack and spill their contents all over the table and floor, which caught fire.

  "What in God's name was that?" Thomas asked.

  "Not now," I said between clenched teeth, anger burning brightly inside me. The fire I'd cast had taken hold of the inn, and was quickly spreading across the wooden floor.

  "In the cellar," Ivy said followed by a creak as the trapdoor was pulled up.

  We descended down a long, well-made ladder into a large cellar as the mixed smells of the perfume followed us. The inn was about three yards above us. The fire would have a hard time reaching this far underground. Candlelight illuminated the entire cellar, casting eerie shadows along the stone walls.

  "So, do we just hide down here?" Thomas asked.

  "The monster who kept me locked up didn't trust the soldiers or wolves. So the man who owned the inn was ordered to bring me my meals," Ivy said as she wandered through the cellar. "I read him once. He wanted to know if his family would be safe. He'd been leading them through tunnels down here and into the hills above us."

  "And this wasn't information you were going to give us?" Thomas asked.

  "I would have, yes. But I wanted to know what Nathanial's plan was. I knew that he would rescue me, I didn't want to jeopardise that by giving him the answers. The things I see aren't set." Ivy stopped, placed her hands against a stone at the far end of the room and pushed. A hidden door moved silently open a crack, a cool breeze swam through the crack.

  I gripped the smooth edges of the stone and pulled the door fully open. The tunnel inside was small, fit only for single-file movement. It had probably been designed for smugglers. There were plenty of them dotted over both France and England, and there was no telling how safe or long it might be. But it was a way out that didn't involve fighting my way through a wolf pack.

  I removed my Guan Dao and held it horizontally by my side. The three of us moved through the narrow passage as fast as we dared, closing the door behind us to conceal our exit. It looked well made, but one wrong step and the tons of earth above us could very quickly become our tomb. I took up the front, with Ivy a few steps behind me to avoid the spike on the end of my Guan Dao and Thomas behind her. The only sounds inside were the pounding of our footwear on the soft earth and the occasional crunch as a bug came too close.

  The further we went, the staler the air seemed to become. Even so, I was grateful it wasn't the smell of burning flesh. Nor that of those perfumes, which had not formed a pleasant odour once mixed together. Although, they had burned well.

  The tunnel seemed to go on forever. The complete absence of light combined with the size of the tunnel created a growing sense of claustrophobia. I considered using magic to make me see in the dark, but the inferno I'd caused back in the inn meant I needed time without its use. My magic willed me to keep using it. Something inside my head told me that all my current problems could be solved by its continuous use. Despite how small an amount it takes to allow me to see in the dark, it just wasn't worth the risk to let my magic take more control of my thoughts.

  Eventually tiny pinpricks of light made their way through the enclosed darkness and I hurried my pace to ensure I reached any danger before it could be sprung.

  At the end of the tunnel I discovered that the tiny lines of light were making their way through a huge amount of ferns and leaves piled up at the exit, which was a large hole in the side of a mound of earth. I pushed the flora aside and stepped into a forest. Probably part of the same one Thomas and I had stayed in the night before. After the darkness of the tunnel, even the insignificant amount of sunlight was enough to make me blink and rub my eyes. I took a moment to get used to my new surroundings.

  The village behind us was easy to spot by simply following the black, billowing smoke. It was probably a mile away, certainly far enough that we were safe from any immediate hunting on the part of the werewolves.

  "So what do we do now?" Thomas asked, emerging from the tunnel.

  "We find my sister," Ivy said as she sat on the grass. "That man in the hood has her."

  "Mordred?" I asked. "He's the one who kept you imprisoned in Soissons?"

  Ivy nodded.

  "I recognised him from Soissons, too," Thomas said. "What he did to that man... I... what in God's name is he?"

  I stabbed at the entrance to the tunnel with the spike on the end of my Guan Dao, partially collapsing the earth to ensure no one could easily follow us through it. "Evil," I said when I'd finished. "A crime against magic."

  Chapter 19

  Thomas and Ivy had a lot of questions about what had happened. I ignored them and walked deeper into the woods without looking back. The only way I knew Ivy and Thomas were following me was the constant cracking of twigs and rustling of the many dead leaves on the ground.

  They both left me alone when we reached a clearing near a small lake, a waterfall providing a beautiful backdrop to my melancholy thoughts. I washed in the lake, scrubbing dried blood from my arms and hands whilst the sunlight began its descent into darkness.

  I found Thomas and Ivy sitting on the edge of the tree line. Thomas was busy preparing a fire, but the wood was damp and refused to do anything beyond smoke. "Can't you do your magic again?" he asked.

  I shook my head and sat against a large oak tree, the old bark felt nice between my shoulder blades.

  The click of flint on flint sounded once again, as did the mumbled curse that followed. "Why not?"

  "Because he could kill us all," Ivy said.

  I turned to look at her, and found that she was staring at me. "Magic is alive," I said to Thomas. "It's inside me, inside all sorcerers. It needs to be used. The more you use it, the more powerful you become. But that power comes with a price." I rubbed the back of my neck. It had been a long few days. "Magic heals us, makes us stronger and faster. Hell, it makes us almost immortal. We still age, but much slower than regular humans. The more magic you use, the better you become at it, the faster you learn and the more likely you are to turn into a monster.

  "If a sorcerer stops using magic, just one day decides he's never going to use it again, the magic will start to feed on him. It doesn't want to be dormant. It wants to be used, to do amazing things. And if you won't do it, it will escape the confines of your body and go back to the world around us to be used again by someone else. It'll take months, but eventually the magic's feeding will start to age the user at a human level. Those who stop using always die quickly.

  "I've used a lot of powerful magic in the past few days, and I'm starting to think that magic can resolve everything. That it would make my life so much easier if I just embraced the use, allowed it to wash over me. But doing that will eventually turn me into a crime against magic."

  Thomas cursed the fire's inability to start and flung the flint into the deep forest. "That's what you called Mordred," he said.

  I nodded. "There are over a dozen crimes against magic. Most of them are creatures that can be created by using magic either on yourself or others. If a sorcerer uses too much magic his body begins to change. And his mind cracks. Eventually, depending on the magic used and the speed at which you allowed it to consume you, it will turn you into a one of several things."

  "Such as?" Thomas continued.

  "There’s too many to go into right now, but there are two that stand out. The first is a gargoyle. Near impervious to any weapon and covered in thick stone armour. Killing one is hard work. Strong magic is pret
ty much your only chance. And that's if you manage to avoid the gargoyle's speed and strength.

  "The second, and much more common, is a nightmare. And it's exactly what the name suggests. Magic is all but useless against them. They're fast, strong, and will kill anyone in their way. Unlike gargoyles, nightmares possess very little independent thought. They're used as weapons. You point them at someone and they go kill him."

  Thomas glanced around the forest before speaking again. "Is that why you carry those weapons?"

  "Not everything is susceptible to magic. And not everything to silver. But most things can be hurt by one or the other. It certainly reduces the odds of getting caught without something to defend myself with."

  "So, what is Mordred?" Thomas asked.

  Ivy's expression matched my own feelings. What had that evil bastard done to her?

  "I've known Mordred for centuries. He's evil, cruel and capable of horrific acts, but as for what he is. Well, that's... complicated is probably the word," I said. "There are three sets of magic. Elemental and Omega are the big two. But the third is Blood magic. It's not a crime to learn how to use it. In fact most sorcerers who are powerful enough learn some of the more useful aspects. How to increase spell power, healing abilities, tracking people, that sort of thing. But some use it to do terrible things – curses, controlling another's actions, demonic possession.

  "All magic demands to be used, but Blood magic is addictive. The power's a massive rush, and some use it to the exclusion of all other types when they become obsessed with it and their power grows. They're called blood leeches. They sacrifice people and drink their blood in an attempt to become ever more powerful. Mordred is one of those."

  Thomas looked slightly nauseous. I'd had a similar reaction when I'd heard about what a blood leech did. "So why hasn't anyone killed him?" Thomas asked.

  I tensed slightly. It was a sore subject. "We've tried, again and again. Every time he kills those sent against him, or escapes and we don't hear from him for fifty years. But this time, I intend to find him and ensure he doesn't walk away again."

  "So you'll help me?" Ivy asked.

  I nodded. "We'll find your..." A scream escaped Thomas' lips and he doubled over, clawing at his clothes to remove them before the change ripped them apart. He'd managed to drag off his tunic when he screamed for a second time, this one mixed with the howl of a wolf.

  The change lasted a few seconds less than his first time, although it appeared to be no less painful. Ivy's blue eyes bulged and she was unable to tear her gaze away from what she saw, but there was no fear or horror in her expression.

  When Thomas finished, he lay on the soft grass panting heavily, his thick fur matted with sweat. He looked up at Ivy and darted toward the lake, diving in with an enormous splash.

  Ivy followed him and stood by the water’s edge, utterly unafraid of what Thomas could do to her.

  My hand slid toward my sword and I pushed myself to my feet.

  "Wait," Ivy said to me.

  Thomas had exited the cold water a few yards from Ivy and shaken himself dry, sitting hunched on all fours. She took a step toward him and I instinctively followed suit, but Thomas didn't move. He showed no signs of aggression or unhappiness at having Ivy near him. I expected him to be more feral than he was. It was still early in his life as a werewolf, his control over the wolf portion of him should still be weak.

  Ivy took a couple more steps and raised one hand toward Thomas' face. He lowered his muzzle to the ground, sniffing loudly as the young girl continued unabated. When she was in touching distance, Thomas moved forward and pushed her away with his gigantic front paw. There was no anger or threat in the gesture. He merely didn't want her too close.

  Ivy ignored the push and placed her hands on Thomas' head, one on either side of his face. He shook his head slightly, but she held on and said something I couldn't hear. Then she started shaking, her entire body convulsing as she released Thomas and fell to the ground.

  Thomas' wolf eyes looked at me with easy to read concern and I sprinted the distance between us and scooped Ivy up from the ground. "She's having a vision," I told Thomas, who had started pacing back and forth. I hoped my words would calm him, but he looked up at the moon and howled.

  "It's not your fault," I shouted at Thomas. He ignored me, only calming when he saw Ivy's body relax. She grabbed my forearms, holding on for all she was worth. I tried to push her away, but it was too late and she started to convulse once more, this time even more violently.

  "Shit," I said as she let go of me and crashed back to the ground, her dress riding up her legs to reveal a dark swirling mark on one thigh, about the size of her fist.

  Almost as fast as the convulsions started, they stopped and Ivy opened her eyes. "A thousand years of your life in an instant," she said. "I had no idea you were that old."

  "Don't move. I'll get you some water."

  Ivy shook her head. "I know what you are. You're the thing the monsters fear..." She coughed. I tried to get her some water for a second time, but she grabbed my arm and pulled herself toward me. When she spoke her voice was barely a whisper, but she might as well have shouted from the top of a mountain, "Merlin's Assassin."

  Chapter 20

  London, England. Now.

  I wanted to submit my application for being shot in the shoulder as the most gut wrenchingly painful experience someone could have.

  The pain takes your breath away. The red hot, burning evilness running through your body, stopping any thought that doesn't involve the fact that you've been shot. And I had the joy of broken ribs and a general shit-kicking to add on top. It hadn't been a good day.

  I vaguely remembered Jerry carrying me down into Francis' place of business. And then nothing until I heard Francis' voice above me, "Are you awake, Nathanial?"

  I didn't even have the strength to tell him to fuck off for getting my name wrong. "My body hurts," I managed, as I opened one eye and tried to look around me. I was on a comfortable bed with metal bars on either side of me. It had probably once belonged to a hospital. The pillow covers were cold against my neck, and I found myself wanting to go back to sleep.

  I forced my eyes to stay open and took in the rest of the room. The walls were familiar brick from the rest of the abandoned tube station, and like those, at one time it had been white. Some time ago it had been transformed into a strange mixture of old white paint and red brick dust.

  My head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool. "What's wrong with me?"

  "Apart from the gunshot?" Francis asked, placing something on a tray next to me with a clank that made me wince. "We had to give you something for the damage you sustained."

  "What did you give me, Francis?" I asked concerned. I sat up and leaned back against the headboard. I felt woozy, like everything would start spinning the moment I tried to stand. I'd never been in the room I found myself in. A long wooden shelving unit sat along one side of me. It held boxes of what looked like surgical equipment. Each box had a large label on the front, some said needles while others contained gloves

  An expensive looking freezer was on the opposite side, like the type they use in hospitals to keep vials of medicine. Another metal tray sat on a table next to me with two vials on it, both labels were pointed away from me, but I could see that they were empty with two hypodermic needles beside them. Bloodied gloves and some gauze were next to the needles. I absentmindedly touched my bare chest, and found the lack of a hole there to be worrying.

  "Why has the bullet hole closed?" I asked.

  "Are you complaining?" Francis commented. "You should be grateful." He watched my expression for a few moments and sighed. "Firstly you need to understand. You had several broken ribs, a punctured lung and bullet hole just below your clavicle, the latter of which resulted in some silver poisoning, but managed to miss anything important. Your magic would have sorted them all out within the next few days, but I assumed you wouldn't want to rest for the time that would take. So, I hastened
things along a little."

  "What did you do, Francis?"

  Francis' mute bodyguard entered the room and sat next to the arch. Francis turned to look at him. "You're avoiding the question," I said with an edge to my voice.

  "As I said earlier," he started. "You were seriously injured. The biggest problem wasn't any of the injuries I listed, but this." He removed some gauze from my stomach, showing me three small claw marks, oozing a clear liquid. "The gargoyle must have hit you."

  "Bastard was faster than I thought," I said with a forced smile.

  "That bastard, as you so eloquently phrased it, nearly killed you. Gargoyles are venomous, their claws and teeth excrete a highly efficient toxin. They use it to incapacitate victims so they don't fight back while they're being eaten, like a snake or a spider. To combat this, I had to inject you with anti-venom." Francis tossed me a small empty vial, the word gargoyle inscribed on the front in bold letters. "A few years back I acquired the venom gland of a gargoyle. I've had people synthesising an anti-toxin since then. That vial you're holding is worth ten thousand pounds."

  I looked down at the small glass object. "Are you serious?"

  "Don't worry," Francis said with a wave of his hand. "We'll work out some sort of repayment scheme."

  "Repay..." I began, but stopped.

  "Of course repay. How do you think my mute friend came into my service? A gargoyle ripped off his tongue, and I saved his life. He's indebted to me, although he does seem to enjoy his work."

  The bodyguard smiled, thankfully without opening his lips to show the remains of his tongue.

  I was going to reply to Francis, but decided not to bother. He was being serious and arguing about it wouldn't change that fact. "Fine, I'll owe you. So what's numbing the pain, and why did I heal so fast? I assume that's not the anti-venom at work."

  "This is the part you will be unhappy about. I had to inject you with something else. Something to heal you quickly. I have a number of things that would work, but under the circumstances..."