Magic, Sorcery and Witchcraft

by Stas Borodin

  “Seriously? And you call that a plan?” Ice sighed. “I’ll tell you a secret, buddy, it is our asses gonna be whipped, not his! Wanna make a bet?”

  I shook my head. “Don’t worry, we will be wearing masks,” I said. “We’ll sneak up on him from behind and give him a bash on the head with something heavy. Don’t look at me like that! This is not a joust, and we are no knights!”

  “Are you really Marcus Grimm?” Ice asked suspiciously. “Maybe you’re an impostor, some bloodthirsty highwayman?”

  “It is I,” I chuckled. “I’m just a humble army scout, and among my army friends this would be considered a trifling matter.”

  “Don’t tell me you served in the army!” Ice’s mouth gaped in surprise. “Have you ever killed a man?”

  “A couple of times,” I answered, trying to avoid further questions.

  “And what was it like?” Ice leaned forward, lowering his voice. “How does it feel to pierce a man with your sword? Weren’t you scared?”

  “I used my crossbow,” I said. “I never saw their faces.”

  “Oh, really?” Ice looked disappointed for a moment, and then he perked up. “Ha, buddy, you almost got me! How stupid I am! How could you be in the army? You’re just a kid!”

  We laughed together, and I was happy for the conversation to take such a turn.

  Meanwhile, the Blockheads had finished their warm-up and had split into two teams to start the game.

  Each team consisted of three forwards, three midfielders, three defenders and one goalkeeper. The big and slow-moving defenders wore sturdy gloves, suited equally for punching and for catching. The more nimble midfielders sported long cudgels intended for ball catching and for some occasional leg smashing. The quick-footed forwards were equipped with bats, helmets and heavy boots.

  The shiny resin ball could be thrown, kicked, deflected by head or by bat in order to be put through the main goal. The size of the goal varied from city to city, but it was always made of three metal rings suspended high above the ground. The team scored a full point only if their ball passed through all the rings and fell into the small prize zone.

  Nimble as quicksilver, Nis hit the ball. The goal rings tinkled softly and the ball fell into the prize zone. The goalkeeper threw his small shield to the ground and yelled in annoyance at the defenders. The ball was dug up and the game started over. Nis struck like lightning, scoring again and again, while his unfortunate opponents desperately tried to organize the defence.

  “Did you see that?” Ice chuckled. “Without Nis they are nothing. Their whole game is built on the attack; they don’t even know how to defend themselves.”

  “Just like Alims,” I muttered under my breath.

  Ice didn’t hear me; he was fully immersed in the game.

  Chapter 3

  All week I’d been busy attending lectures, and I bumped into Ice only a couple of times on my way back home and in the refectory. Before going to bed I had only a few hours to read my notes and to do my homework. No wonder I completely forgot about our cunning plan.

  “The game is tomorrow.” Ice peered into my room through the open door. “We must place our bets before midnight.”

  I slammed the book shut and stretched my back. “I’m ready.”

  Ice entered the room and locked the door.

  “I spied on Nis. They will be feasting tonight at Prizefighter. That’s what they usually do.”

  “They?” I asked. “You mean he won’t be alone?”

  “Well,” my friend replied, “the whole team will be there. Drinks, girls, all to raise morale!”

  “And I always thought that one should abstain before a game,” I said, packing my black scout uniforms and skens’ leather stick into my shoulder bag.

  “Our Blockheads are pretty tough, they can drink that piss all night long,” Ice snorted. “The local booze is so diluted that even my father would be ashamed to put it on his table!”

  It seemed that Ice’s father was a supreme cheapskate.

  “Do you have the powder?” I asked.

  “You bet!” He patted his pocket. “We have been inseparable all week.”

  At the main gate we bribed the gatekeeper with a silver coin and quietly slipped out.

  “Just think about it,” Ice whispered, “everybody’s making money tonight. Especially the gatekeeper. On a night like this only the sick and the lame will stay in the Academy.”

  It was just a ten-minute walk to Paara.

  “So many betters?” I was surprised. “Even the teachers?”

  “Of course! Paarians are risk-loving folks,” Ice explained. “Especially when their favourite team is on the field.”

  “And everyone will be betting on our team?” I asked sternly.

  “Isn’t it great?” Ice looked pleased.

  “Wait, Ice.” I stopped him in the middle of the road. “I didn’t know we would be robbing our own.”

  “What do you care?” Ice shrugged. “That’s what the game is about. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose!”

  I shook my head. “I’m sorry, Ice, but I can’t do this.”

  Ice stopped abruptly. “And what about revenge?” he asked. “You promised to help me!”

  “I’m not refusing,” I reassured him. “We’ll do it after the game. I’ll beat him to a pulp!”

  But Ice shook his head, his eyes brimming with tears.

  “And I’ll lend you as much money as you want,” I comforted him. “What do you say?”

  “But you promised,” Ice said, clenching his fists. “You know it’s not just about the money!”

  “I’m sorry, my friend,” I said. “We will come up with another plan!”

  The tears gleamed on Ice’s cheeks and I realized that he would never have dared to attempt such a scam without me.

  “Just don’t make promises that you can’t keep!” He turned on his heels and stalked back to the Academy.

  I stood there dumbfounded. I had heard those same words before. I remembered one particular promise that had almost got us all killed. I remembered how proud and stubborn I had been when it came to my so-called honour. I was a damn fool! And how easily had I broken my promise now. I felt disgusted with myself.

  I gave chase and caught up with Ice near the gate.

  “Wait, Ice, wait!” I took a deep breath. “You’re right; I have to stick to my word, and will not give promises I cannot keep.”

  Ice wiped his tears and smiled. “Damn, Mark, this time you almost got me!” Right then he looked like a small boy, not the fire-breathing magician what he was. I felt ashamed. I had not only almost broken a given word but also hurt a friend.

  ✽✽✽

  We peered through the tavern’s window looking for our Blockheads friends. They were already there, sitting at the best table, bawling racy Blockheads’ songs.

  “If we enter through the front door, they’ll see us right away,” Ice said. “Maybe we should try the back door?”

  I took the black scout uniforms out of my bag and handed one hooded jacket to my friend.

  “For real? Scout uniforms?” Ice grinned. “Did you steal it from the drying post?”

  It was nice to see that my friend’s mood had improved.

  We entered the tavern and sat down in a far corner close to the back door. The Blockheads were busy drinking and laughing. Ice ordered a pitcher of local “piss” and a bowl of salty peanuts.

  “Damn,” my friend said as he sipped from his tankard, “even thinner than usual!”

  The tavern was packed with people. Everybody were talking about the upcoming game and who was going to bring them some money.

  “I bet ten gold pieces on the Academy’s team,” said one of the traders, raising his mug.

  “Are you kidding? And you call that a bet!” His pal made a sour face. “You gonna get only one coin if they win, but if they lose, you are bound to lose ten. You should have been broke long ago, taking such risks.”

  “Ha!” the trader laughed. “The Wil
d Bears are a formidable team, but they have no chance against the Blockheads. That gold piece is already in my pocket!”

  “I will be betting on the Bears,” said the second trader. “If they win, I’ll get ten to one.”

  “If they win,” the first trader laughed. “The key word is ‘if’! You are welcome to bet your entire fortune on the Bears. We’ll see who’s gonna be broke!”

  “And you call it a game?” The second trader wouldn’t budge. “To risk big to get a trifle? I’m ashamed to call you a friend! What’s the point of playing without the thrill and excitement?”

  The first trader banged his mug on the table. “Go to Mistar with your excitement! Are you calling me a cheapskate?”

  “This man has a point,” Ice nodded. “The thrill is worth all the money.”

  “Well, it depends on what kind of game you are playing,” I said wistfully. “And it can be applied to life in general, if you regard it as a game too.”

  “Well, we made our bets,” agreed Ice. “Let’s hope that this time the gods are on our side.”

  We sat idly for a while, drinking beer, watching the Blockheads and listening to the chatter.

  “Look,” Ice brightened. “They accept gifts from other tables, those thirsty bastards! Maybe we should send them a bottle too?”

  The Blockheads were having the time of their lives. They had drunk so much that ordinary people would have passed out long ago, but they were merely drunk.

  “Let’s do it,” I nodded. “Or it’s gonna be a busy night.”

  Ice ordered a large mug of the best wine and discreetly emptied the contents of his vial into it.

  A stout waitress placed our present on a tray and glided towards the students’ table. Nis looked in our direction, nodded and raised his mug high.

  “Thank you, gentlemen.” He winked at us. “Come see the game tomorrow, you will not regret it!”

  In one fell swoop, he drained the mug, grunted with pleasure, turned it upside down, showing that there was nothing left, and put it on the table.

  We waved back. Ice chuckled. “Here goes the fun part!” He pulled his hood over his eyes. “It’ll take a few minutes to work.”

  Meanwhile, Nis had drained a couple more cups sent by his admirers. He looked proud and relaxed, basking in the limelight.

  We ordered a second pitcher of beer, waiting for the drug to work. Nis, unaware that he was being watched, pulled a pipe from his pocket, slowly lit it and reclined in his chair.

  Ice grew nervous. He took the vial out of his pocket and inspected it closely. The bottle was empty, only a few grains of powder were stuck to the bottom. “I don’t get it,” he sighed, rubbing his nose. “That much could make a whole regiment of city guards shit themselves, but this damn Blockhead seems unaffected.”

  And then Nis dropped his feet off the desk, clutched his stomach and farted loudly.

  “Oh yeah! Work it, baby!” Ice whispered excitedly. “Now he’s gonna drop his load!”

  The Blockheads roared with laughter and waved their hands, dispersing the heavy fragrance around the tavern. Nis looked confused. He rubbed his belly with his huge paw, as if listening to the sensations, and a moment later he joined the fun.

  Ice’s face flushed with indignation. “And that’s all?! How dare you!” He clenched his fists. “Damn apothecary! He played me for a fool!”

  He took out the vial and with his finger collected the last grains of the drug.

  “I bet that bastard sold me a bottle of sea salt.” He licked his finger and spat. “Dammit, I knew it!”

  “We’ll use the backup plan,” I said quietly. “Just calm down. We will succeed.”

  Ice bit his lip and nodded.

  We ordered more beer, waiting for the end of the banquet.

  Suddenly Ice moaned. His face went pale and large drops of sweat appeared on his forehead. “Damn potion,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “I think it works after all!”

  “But how?” I was surprised. “You only swallowed a couple of grains, while Nis consumed the whole vial.”

  “How should I know?” my friend gasped, bending in half. “Maybe we should not have mixed it with wine? I’ll ask the apothecary, if I live to see tomorrow—” Ice jumped up from the table and dashed to the toilet.

  ✽✽✽

  The Blockheads were long gone and the last visitors were dozing over half-empty mugs, but my friend had still not returned. I was about to follow him to the bathroom when I was approached by a waitress. “I see that your friend is sick,” she said sympathetically.

  “Yeah,” I nodded. “Probably ate something bad in the city.”

  “Here take this.” She put a small bottle on the table. “No need to pay. My husband, may he rest in peace, was a scout too. I know first-hand how meagre your salary is.”

  I didn’t know how to thank this good-hearted woman, but she just shrugged. “So young, and already in the army,” she sighed. “Orvad bless you!”

  I grabbed the bottle and ran to the far end of the tavern where the restrooms were located. The door swung open and I was hit by a wave of heavy stench. A faint moan came from behind a thin wicker screen.

  “Ice!” I shouted. “Is that you?”

  “Who else?” His voice was faint and haggard. “Orvad is punishing me for my greed and treachery. What do you say in the steppes? Curses like chickens come home to roost…”

  I smiled and handed him the bottle. “Here, a present from the waitress. She said that this stuff will get you back on your feet in no time.”

  “I’d drink even donkey’s piss if you said it would help,” Ice groaned, taking the bottle.

  The mixture helped. A chalk-white face emerged from behind the wicker screen.

  “Good timing, my friend,” he muttered. “I was about to look for a suitable bucket to store my damn guts.”

  “You should thank the waitress,” I replied. “Her husband was a scout.”

  “Hail all the scouts and their wives!” Ice proclaimed, solemnly wiping his running nose.

  ✽✽✽

  The match went as expected. The Wild Bears were ignominiously defeated, and Nis alone scored thirty points brilliantly.

  Ice showed up after the game. He propped himself on the windowsill and cleared his throat. “I’ve lost everything.” He threw up his hands and sighed. “This is the end of me!”

  “You could be a wonderful dramatic actor,” I said, closing my book. “You could move the most hardened hearts!”

  Ice sat, his legs spread, and smiled. “You really think so?” He scratched his head. “Well, as long as my acting career brings no income, can you lend me some money?”

  “Think of it as your first fee,” I said, taking my purse out of a drawer. “Flowers and applause will come later.”

  “Don’t forget about the fans!” Ice smirked, sweeping the money off the table. “Thank you, my friend; I’ll repay you very soon.” He counted the money and then sat down to write a receipt.

  “I don’t need it.” I shook my head. “Your word is enough.”

  “You know, my word is not worth much,” he said. “But if you’ll have this piece of paper, I won’t forget it either.”

  I took the receipt and put it in the drawer.

  “Oh,” Ice suddenly remembered, “Master Raydun wanted to see you. He said he has some useful books that could help you in your studies.”

  I froze, dumbfounded. Aydiola Glef himself wanted to see me! I wondered if Ice knew his true identity too, but just in case, I decided to keep my mouth shut.

  “I’ll see him,” I nodded. “Right away!”

  “Well, I need to run. Gonna visit the apothecary.” Ice frowned sternly. “Have to talk to him heart to heart. And after that I have some business in the Prizefighter. See you later!”

  He hid the money and took off.

  I waited a few minutes and hurried out into the street. It was almost dark and the heat had already given way to the evening cool. I heard the restless cries of the gu
lls and the monotonous strokes of waves. The air was filled with smells of sea salt and night flowers.

  I closed my coat tightly and looked around. It was a short walk, just across the square and down the stairs to the star-shaped fountain. I crossed the road, avoiding the noisy group of Blockheads, reached the stairs safely and, after a minute, tugged on the bell cord hanging over the library door.

  Master Raydun opened it right away. He invited me inside and barred the door behind my back.

  We passed through a narrow hallway cluttered with piles of books and into a spacious reading room, illuminated by the light of numerous green spheres suspended above the tables. There were towering bookcases along the walls crammed with countless ancient-looking books with worn and faded spines.

  Master Raydun led me to another door. “I have heard that you are making good progress.” The Master Librarian opened the door with a small key.

  The new room was much smaller, its centre occupied by a round table littered with scraps of paper, copper tubes, brushes, rulers and mismatched bookbinding. I was seated in an armchair, under a lamp with a blue lampshade.

  “Here I spend my days mending the books,” Master Raydun explained. The air in the room smelled of leather and glue. “Many books come to me in very poor condition, so I have to give them first aid.”

  I saw a folio lying on the table, its cover charred and pages blackened.

  The Master Librarian pointed to the shelves. “As you can see, war is the book’s worst enemy. They are dying by the thousands, and each such loss is irreparable. The wisdom that our ancestors wanted to share with us disappears in the abyss of the past and the mouth of the dead sages will be sealed forever.”

  “Your speech is different,” I said. “It’s like listening to an old ballad.”

  “True, our ancestors’ language was more like a song,” Master Raydun smiled. “Only old farts like me who spend too much time among the old folios remember how it was. We all still use the same words, but somehow they’ve turned flavourless, dry and coarse.”