Magic, Sorcery and Witchcraft

by Stas Borodin

  “I did as you ordered.” Master Dante nodded.

  “They know that you are strong, but you are much stronger than they think.”

  “Am I?” The sorcerer raised an ironic eyebrow. “Who told you that?”

  “Master Keandr,” Father said.

  “I hate to disappoint you,” Master Dante chuckled. “But I’m afraid this sword of yours is a little rusty.”

  “No, you’re wrong, my dear friend. He’s still as sharp as a razorblade.” Father squeezed the sorcerer’s shoulder. “My grandfather Mezid, at the age of ten, took part in the Battle of Emerald Hill. Back then he was just a page in Master Keandr’s retinue and saw everything with his own eyes. I still remember his stories word for word.”

  “That happened over a hundred years ago.” Master Dante shrugged. “Our lord is not the same as before…”

  “We have to trust him!” Father exclaimed. “If I am right, then we will have a glorious new victory. If I’m wrong, Orvad will protect us!”

  It was hot and uncomfortable riding in full armour. I thought longingly about the light scout’s uniform and my sturdy pony, obedient to the slightest touch of the knees.

  Selphir was a noble animal, a real warhorse. This horse was better suited to a real knight than to a boy adjutant. He was huge, snow-white, with an armoured chest and an evil gleam in beautiful eyes. He scared me more than a hundred nomads. Of course, I could not help but admire this magnificent creature that Father had presented me with, but I knew that we would never be friends. Selphir could only submit to a hero like himself, with blue blood and wild eyes.

  After a whole day in the saddle, I was completely exhausted, and as soon as the signalman called a halt, I threw the reins to the groom and trudged to my tent. A young page took off my armour and massaged my numb back. Exhausted, I collapsed on the mattress and wrapped myself in a thick blanket.

  Now I was a pretty important person, I even had my own tent and servants. Everyone treated me with the utmost respect, but I suspected that respect was not sincere.

  A servant entered with a tray full of food. I turned to the wall and did not touch the plate. Through the thin fabric of the tent I could see flashes of the bonfires around which the ordinary soldiers camped in the open. Looking at their ghostly shadows, I involuntarily recollected the words of the old ballad, “Battle of the Emerald Hill.”

  Just shadows, just death, just fight,

  Lost souls are drowning in the mire.

  On a green hill in the heart of night,

  Old dragon exhaling black fire.

  I felt goosebumps on my back. Who would have thought that my great-grandfather had been a witness to these legendary events! I’d always imagined a huge dragon descending from heaven. He saves Lady Maren and burns the insidious Lord Vitur to ashes with his brothers and his whole army…

  Crying wind is her only friend,

  Tracks from the dried tears.

  Silent cross in a foreign land,

  Old dragon sleeps at her knees.

  This ballad was woven into the tapestry hanging in Mother’s room, so I’ve known every line of it since childhood.

  I imagined my great-grandfather, the mighty warrior, at that time still a boy, staring silently at Lady Maren. Holding his breath, he is looking at a woman whose beauty cannot be described in words. Near the mistress stands the slender figure of the court magician, and over their heads towers the ominous mass of the obelisk under which Lady Maren’s husband and son are buried. The mistress puts white flowers on the grave and the tears are rolling down her pale cheeks.

  Suddenly, out of nowhere, appears Lord Vitur with his brothers and eleven hundred and eleven riders. They want to kidnap the beautiful lady and desecrate her husband’s grave, but then a fire-breathing dragon descends from the sky and with his breath incinerates the entire host. He picks up the beauty and carries her far, far away.

  That was the legend, but the truth appeared even more incredible.

  Master Keandr accompanied Lady Maren to the grave of her husband and son. Several maids and pages were carrying large baskets filled with white flowers. Lord Vitur, of course, found out about it, and decided to get even with the widow of his sworn enemy. Not wasting a moment, he rushed to meet them, taking with him a great host. He did not know that this whole affair was a carefully planned trap.

  For a long time Lady Maren had harboured plans for revenge, and she asked Master Keandr to punish the villains. The magician called the murderer to a duel and slew him, and then he called his brothers and killed them all, one by one. Vitur’s men decided to avenge the death of their masters, and the battle began. Master Keandr fought against eleven hundred and eleven knights for three days and three nights, and my grandfather saw it all with his own eyes.

  On the morning of the fourth day, Lady Maren came down from the Emerald Hill alone, and since then, no one has seen her. Her husband and son were finally avenged.

  Tossing and turning, it was midnight before I fell asleep. I listened to the conversations of the soldiers wafting through the thin walls of the tent, and wondered if I would soon witness amazing events that the bards and poets would turn into ballads and poems.

  I fell into a dreamless black slumber, which did not give rest to a tired body and exhausted mind. I was awakened early in the morning by the copper voice of a battle trumpet. Thus began a new day in which we all became a legend.

  Chapter 5

  Right from the early morning, everything went wrong. First, Selphir bit an old groom’s shoulder. Then my page disappeared along with my armour. There was no time to wait, so I hurriedly put on my scout’s uniform. I hung a hunting crossbow from the saddle, took a quiver full of arrows and saddled Selphir.

  The horse squinted angrily at the groom and surreptitiously tried to step on his foot. Somehow I coped with the restive beast and quickly moved to the head of the column. The groom spat after me and mumbled something. I just winced and pretended not to notice.

  My mood was nasty and the air itself seemed to be imbued with anxiety.

  Korn inspected my robe with a grin but said nothing. He just tapped his forehead, probably hinting that I was out of my mind. However, I was incredibly glad that I didn’t have to roast all day in the stupid heavy armour. Yesterday I had rubbed my shoulders to the blood, and my back ached terribly, unaccustomed to such a weight.

  My father, riding on Eflimer, was clad from head to toe in shiny armour. I could see large drops of sweat on his forehead and a tuft of hair sticking out of his open visor.

  Eflimer was so huge that even my Selphir looked like a small pony compared to him. The big warhorse was also clad in full armour. His back and chest were covered in chain mail, and on his muzzle he wore a scary mask with fangs and horns.

  Korn rode alongside my father on his black destrier. He was holding Father’s painted shield and a long battle lance with a small pennant on the tip.

  On all sides we were surrounded by bodyguards and personal guards.

  King Keandr rode at the head of the procession. He wore thin silver chain mail over a black coat and a fur hat with tails and a mail collar. From his saddle near his left boot dangled a curved sabre in a sheath of tiger skin, and behind his back hung a short curved bow and a quiver filled with coloured arrows.

  I was enraptured. Master Keandr’s horse was so gorgeous! His legs were slender, his posture elegant, complete with a long swan neck and silky tail entwined with silk ribbons. Rider and horse seemed one whole, like a real centaur. The king sat in the saddle, eyes half-closed, face to the refreshing breath of wind while my father was busy giving orders.

  ✽✽✽

  We drove slowly until noon, and soonour army stretched for miles and miles. A little later, the Firgan cavalry caught up with us, and immediately took its place in the vanguard.

  “We’re almost there.” Father pointed forward.

  Ahead, the road narrowed and descended into a dry river bed. It was the only passage between the steep cliffs that rose
on both sides straight to the heavens.

  The scouts came galloping. I looked into their faces hidden behind scarves, but did not recognize anyone. An elderly scout reported to my father without dismounting. “The path is clear. We left sentries at every turn, so if the nomads appear, we will know immediately.”

  “Have we made a mistake?” Master Keandr turned to my father.

  “I don’t think so.” Father shook his head. “There is no better place for an attack. Even a blind man can see it, and they are not blind.”

  “There is something that alarmed me.” The scout pointed his finger. “It’s true, we did not see anyone, found no trace; however, I always felt that we were being watched. For a moment I even smelled something, and then in an instant it was gone…”

  “They are there,” Master Keandr concluded. “They are hiding under the veil of some pretty potent magic.”

  Father looked around anxiously. “If so, maybe we should be even more careful?”

  “Don’t worry, my friend.” Master Keandr smiled gently. “This time I’m not taking unnecessary risks.”

  Father sighed, but I realized that, despite all his doubts, he fully trusted the king.

  “Then, we’ll have to wait for the main forces,” Father said. “Let’s meet the enemy fully prepared.”

  It was another three hours before the whole army had gathered at the entrance to the gorge. The infantrymen began to form columns, square shields clanked, a forest of spears swayed, bugles blared. Lieutenants hurried sergeants, and sergeants hurried soldiers, menacingly brandishing their batons. All the civilian folk who accompanied the army on the march crowded around the baggage train.

  The men were putting on their crude leather armour, checking razor-sharp knives and heavy clubs studded with long nails. Their women unhurriedly unwrapped bales of dressings, prepared butcher’s knives, needles and saws.

  A little further on, a Firgan priest blessed the tribesmen. Portable shrines to Orvad and Rothe were erected under the tree, so that each soldier could offer prayers to any of the gods without leaving the line.

  The soldiers were talking excitedly, checking each other’s armour, testing the sharpness of the swords and the balance of javelins.

  The king raised his hand. Bugles blared.

  “Iffliii!” the lieutenants yelled. “Iffliii!”

  The sergeants gave the orders to take drugs and the spearmen took out their medicine boxes and removed flasks from their belts.

  “Iffliii!” could be heard everywhere.

  The infantrymen were taking drugs that increased strength and stamina, improved blood clotting and lifted the spirits. A moment later, the water gurgled in overturned jars. Dull faces lit up with smiles. The men squared tired shoulders burdened by the heavy armour, and easily lifted broad oak shields and began to pound the ground rhythmically with the butts of their spears. Crossbowmen and archers were taking pills that improved concentration and eyesight; riders took the drug for dexterity and coordination.

  The very earth shook from the enthusiastic roar that came from thousands of throats, horses neighed irritably, but nevertheless the long column of cavalry remained perfectly straight.

  “Iffliii!” Father ordered, and we poured coloured pills on our palms.

  I took a gulp of water, and listened cautiously to the strange feeling inside. The drugs worked immediately. At first my face and lips went numb. I pinched my cheek and felt no pain. My head cleared immediately, as if I had been doused with a bucket of iced water. Then a pleasant warmth spread down my spine and my breathing became steady and measured. However, somewhere in the depths of my body, a little red spark flashed. It flared up fast, giving more light and heat. My heartbeat sped up; something fiery ran through my veins, quickly mixing with blood.

  I laughed! Turning to my father, I saw a broad smile on his lips. Korn was also smiling, looking with approval at my happy face.

  “It’s your maiden battle, my son,” he said, lowering his steel visor. “Areh!”

  Trumpeters blew their bugles. The whole army was set in motion in a moment. The crossbowmen entered the ranks of spearmen and in single file moved to the black mouth of the gorge.

  “Locals call this passage the Maw of Mistar,” an old scout spat, spurring his horse. “Such a vile sense of humour!”

  ✽✽✽

  Row after row, the army poured into the gorge. Like an insatiable predator, the Maw of Mistar swallowed warriors, horses and carts.

  When the vanguard of the infantry was out of sight, we spurred our horses and followed at a short distance. The gorge was so narrow that a mere four horseman could ride through side by side. Smooth walls, polished by water, rose very high. From down below, the heavens looked like a thin blue ribbon dotted with tiny white clouds. The dust raised by the infantry swirled in the musty air. The walls were covered with dry brown moss that crumbled at the slightest touch, and ancient shells crunched loudly under our horses’ hooves.

  After just a few minutes in the gorge, I had almost gone deaf from the rumble of thousands of boots, the clatter of hooves and the creaking of heavily laden carts. Looking up, I saw dark shawls made of dusty cobwebs hanging high above. Every now and then they clung to the infantrymen’s spears, showering soldiers with trash and dust.

  Some nimble shadows flittered overhead. Someone was watching us but did not dare approach.

  After a while, the passage began to expand slightly, and at once it became lighter. We saw dusty piles of rags and bones wrapped in cobwebs. Here and there mummified remains hung high over our heads, but most of them were lying scattered on the ground. What a damned place! What creatures dwelt here in the musty darkness waylaying lonely travellers?

  A shiver ran down my spine. If it were not for the miraculous effect of the drug, I would never have dared to venture into such a place.

  Our soldiers stomped ahead fully composed, carelessly kicking the bones with their boots. Sometimes, when they noticed a fast shadow over their heads, they started to hoot and to shake their spears menacingly. Several archers tried to shoot the mysterious creatures, but to no avail.

  It was at least two hours before we saw the light at the end of the gorge. I sighed with relief, and Selphir snorted happily and shook his head.

  The exit from the Maw of Mistar was as narrow as the entrance. A small jam formed around a cart which had broken a rear wheel. The infantry sergeant shouted something, waving his baton angrily. The soldiers who were behind us rushed forward, dropped their weapons on the cart, picked it up and in a flash rolled it out of the gorge, freeing the passage.

  My eyes, accustomed to the gloom, were immediately blinded by the bright sunlight; I covered them with my hand, letting Selphir choose the way.

  The infantry began to form falerman squares at the bottom of the dry lake.

  The steep high walls stretched in both directions as far as the eye could see. This was a real trap. I even felt dizzy. It was pure madness!

  Before our eyes stretched a wide field, overgrown with bushes and low dry grass. The enemy was nowhere to be seen, but in the haze that hung over the heated ground, it was hard to see anything. The Dead Lake was not only deep but enormous too.

  Obeying the signal trumpet, the army moved forward another hundred steps. Behind us, the rearguard began to form columns. Like an endless stream, soldiers continued to spill out of the gorge.

  The scouts began to return. They stopped their ponies just before the commanders and quickly reported. “No traces. No enemies.” The scout frowned. “We combed the entire valley; we left no stone unturned…”

  “They were supposed to be here. How can this be?” Father turned to the king.

  “It’s magic, my dear friend!” The king called for an adjutant who was sitting astride a heavily laden mule. “I think that’s exactly how the Dragon Company was ambushed. That savage mage is a master of illusion.”

  The pipes wailed again, and the army moved forward another hundred steps.

  “Where are
those sons of whores?” one of the soldiers called out to his commander. “I already have this nasty itch under my armour. Just let me stick somebody or I’ll explode!”

  The soldiers guffawed in unison, striking their spears against their shields.

  “Be patient,” said the sergeant. “If you hold back now, it will be more pleasant later.”

  Master Keandr went forward, accompanied by the heavily laden mule. Father gave me a sign, and we followed the royal retinue.

  Master Keandr rose in his stirrups and scanned the field in front of us. I strained my eyes too, peering into the shadows on the hills and trying not to miss a thing, as I had been taught by the scouts. However, apart from the lonely figure of a rider on a distant hill, I saw nothing. Also, I trusted our trackers and didn’t doubt the accuracy of their reports even for a moment.

  Meanwhile, Master Keandr was looking for something in one of his bales. The secretary quickly opened a paper parasol over his head and held a cup of pure water at the ready.

  The king carefully unfolded one of the bundles and began to make something out of the long bamboo poles. A few minutes later, a strange lopsided construction rose high above our heads.

  “This curious contraption was invented by the Schaum people,” said the king. “With it, we can see things hidden from our eyes by magic.”

  He carefully tied silver bells to the long silk strings.

  “Now, please raise the device a bit higher on a spear!”

  One of the squires quickly tied the lower end of the construction to the spear and cautiously lifted it up. A gust of wind tugged at the bells and they rang. The spear started to rotate around its axis, trying to break free from the warrior’s strong hands. Suddenly the melodious peal disappeared, replaced by a low angry buzz. The upper part of the structure became blurred, almost invisible, and the buzzing was soon replaced by piercing squeals, and a puff of white smoke wafted out of the squire’s gloves.