Magic, Sorcery and Witchcraft

by Stas Borodin

  “Damn, there are a lot of them!” exclaimed Trockton.

  Right in front of us I saw the intimidating silhouettes of The Hammer and The Anvil surrounded by the fleet of mighty triremes, biremes and nimble liburnes.

  “Modron and Penkaur are ready to rumble!” exclaimed Ice. “This will be a great battle!”

  “Two huntsmen caught each other,” Trockton grunted. “Let’s see which one is stronger!”

  One by one, our ships exited the strait and took their places in the battle formation. A green banner fluttered above the black galley.

  “All the transports have been ordered to stay back,” the captain deciphered for us. “We can’t stay here for much longer.”

  “Can you pretend that our ship won’t obey the rudder?” I asked.

  “We can,” Trockton nodded. “But an experienced sailor will see through us right away.”

  “They will be busy during the battle,” Ice countered. “We’ll wait until they are all engaged, and then we’ll sneak closer to the warlocks.”

  Hammer and Anvil were the first to attack. The red-bearded devils were as hungry for battle as ever.

  “Fools,” sighed Ice. “They should have struck when the fleet was still halfway through the strait.”

  This time the Kortassian fleet had the numbers, but the two huge Paarian penteras reduced this advantage to nothing. The Hammer and Anvil, like two icebergs, could crush anyone who dared cross their path.

  Countless oars shimmered in the air like colourful dragonfly wings, while huge rams sliced the churning waves like the horns of colossal prehistoric beasts.

  “Breathtaking,” whispered Trockton.

  “Look!” cried the captain. “The pentera on your right is going for the warlocks’ galley!”

  “That’s Master Modron’s Hammer,” Ice said. “He’s the most arrogant fool I know.”

  “I’m afraid,” I said, “that this battle may cover him with eternal glory.”

  On our left, Master Penkaur’s Anvil ripped open the side of the smaller trireme. Broken oars and hull cracked, people shouted. The pentera jerked back, freeing the ram, then turned and attacked a new enemy.

  Meanwhile, The Hammer was closing inexorably on the warlocks’ ship. The oars were pushing her forward faster and faster, and pretty soon I saw the figure of Master Modron standing on the stern in his shining armour with a heavy mace raised high above his head.

  With lazy grace, the warlocks rose from their seats. They threw off their white robes and we could see their naked bodies covered from head to toe with intricate tattoos. The slaves knelt in rows, staring indifferently at the deck. The guards discarded their battle-axes, arming themselves with long evil-looking steel hooks.

  “Now we’ll have a chance to see their true power,” Ice whispered.

  The naked warlocks stepped forward, placed their tattooed hands on the slaves’ heads, and calmly watched the approaching ship.

  I shivered. The air became chilly. “Now,” I whispered, and saw a white cloud of condensation escaping my mouth.

  The oars on the closing-in pentera suddenly exploded. All two hundred and fifty of them were gone in an instant.

  “Damn!” cried Ice, covering his ears.

  I could see his lips moving but couldn’t hear a word.

  Without its oars, The Hammer lost control, unable to slow down or change course. Collision was inevitable.

  I glanced at the warlocks. The warlock on the left smiled, pushing the dead slave aside with his foot.

  The second warlock bent his arm sharply at the elbow and twisted his tattooed fist. The kneeling slave under his palm shuddered, arched his back and fell onto the deck.

  The pentera’s stern was yanked high out of the water, its huge brass ram melting like a candle. The huge ship jerked, its aft deep under the waves, sea water rushing into the open oar ports. I clenched my teeth, unable to look away.

  For a split second, I saw Master Modron waving his mace and shouting at the marines scattered around the deck. A moment later, the invisible hand released its grip on the ship and it fell down, disappearing behind a huge veil of icy spray.

  The Gonkor flotilla responded with a victorious roar, which quickly changed to a sigh of disappointment. Right before our eyes, Master Penkaur’s Anvil impaled another victim.

  The warlock turned toward The Anvil and threw his fist forward. The slave under his arm jerked and fell.

  The warship shuddered, and half of the oars on her left side were turned into splinters. I saw a gaping hole open up in her side. I saw dead bodies and bloodied mutilated oarsmen struggling to get to their feet.

  Meanwhile, Master Modron’s Hammer had recovered from the impact. The spare oars hit the water, and the ship attacked once again. The pentera’s twisted ram crashed into the waves, raising a huge fountain of spray. The oarsmen were struggling with the oars. Captain Modron shouted, trying to keep his mutilated ship on course. I saw The Hammer roll, the left row of oars going deep into the water while the right row rose high to the sky, scooping air.

  Ice turned to me, his face pale and wet with spray. “They’re using slaves to purify the Mana!” My friend bit his lip. “These are real monsters, Mark!” he said. “We are no match for them!”

  I shuddered, either from horror or from the cold wind.

  “Calm down!” I said. “A simple arrow can kill any sorcerer. They are not immortal.”

  Ice squinted for a moment, nodded briefly, and grasped the bulwark with his trembling hands. “Yes,” he said. “Right!”

  I licked my salty lips, took a few deep breaths and turned to the captain. “Bring us closer, Captain! The Paarians won’t hold without our help.”

  The captain looked at me gravely and leaned on the rudder, turning the ship toward the black gallery.

  I saw the heavy Gonkor transports turn toward the shore. The ships were followed by the flock of fast Paarian liburnes. A few more minutes and the real massacre would begin.

  Meanwhile, Master Modron’s Hammer managed to get back on course, pointing at the warlocks’ galley with its mutilated ram. The warlocks looked at each other and laughed. I saw their gaping mouths and shaking shoulders.

  Ice spat. “Smug bastards!”

  One of the warlocks placed both hands on the heads of the kneeling slaves and began to sing a strange and eerie song. The sounds coming from his mouth were sharp and shrill, like the howling of Zenor bagpipes.

  Ice covered his ears and shook his head. “My goats sing way better!” he said.

  One of the warlocks threw his head back, holding the slaves firmly by the hair. The other one stepped forward, extending his long pale hand toward the attacking ship.

  The mast on The Hammer snapped like a reed. It fell down, piercing the deck like an enormous spear.

  Master Modron threw down his useless mace, grabbed the handles of the scorpion and took aim. It was impossible to miss from such a distance; a metre-long arrow was looking right in the warlock’s face.

  “Now!” I muttered, clenching my fists. “Shoot!”

  Master Modron could not stop the sorcery. The dead slaves fell to the deck of the black galley, and their master beat his chest with tattooed fists.

  The pentera shuddered and broke in two with a deafening crack. The warlocks laughed.

  I watched Master Modron being dragged to the sea bottom by his heavy armour and could not do a thing. “Oh, gods!” I muttered.

  The mighty Hammer disappeared in the blink of an eye. Only pieces of wood and several corpses remained, swaying on the water’s surface.

  The warlocks pushed the dead away and turned, looking for Master Penkaur’s Anvil.

  “I’ll be damned!” exclaimed Trockton. He pulled the Hammer of Orvad from under his clothes and pressed it to his trembling lips.

  Meanwhile, a real battle raged on around us. The sky was filled with flying arrows and hissing fireballs. Hundreds of oars were splintered, dozens of hulls ripped open and pierced. Brass rams collided with a gr
inding screech and stone projectiles fell like hail, ricocheting from the hard wood and raising fountains of salty spray.

  No one paid attention to our small vessel, and we slowly but surely edged toward the black galley.

  “Watch out!” yelled the captain and pushed the rudder.

  The side of The Anvil flashed by. Hundreds of moving oars looked like the legs of some giant centipede, and its enormous ram sliced the waves like a tailor’s scissors.

  “Get ready, Master Wizards!” cried the captain. “We are getting close!”

  Suddenly, an invisible blade passed between the ships and crashed into The Anvil.

  I staggered, touching my frost-covered face.

  “I’ll be damned!” said the captain, his beard bristling with shiny icicles. “Look there!”

  I glanced at The Anvil and froze in terror. The pentera looked like a dead fish, gutted by a fisherman’s knife. The ship was lying on her side, taking in water through a huge gaping hole in her belly.

  The next moment, the warlocks were right in front of us. The black galley slowed down and I saw their pale laughing faces, a pile of corpses on the deck, and an altar splattered with fresh blood.

  I squeezed the Tear of Heart in my fist and grabbed Ice by the shoulders.

  “Come on! Show them what you got!”

  The warlocks raised their heads, looking straight at us. They must have sensed something. I saw their tattooed fingers plunge into the kneeling slaves’ hair, and the air between our ships became as cold as winter.

  “Do it now!” I grunted, breathing out a cloud of condensation. My knees trembled, and the Tear of Heart pulsed in my fist, sending waves of heat through my shaking body.

  “Ready?” Ice’s eyes widened. “Hold on tight!”

  His fingers dug into me like pincers, his mouth fell open and his jaw cracked. I felt something hiss and gurgle inside of him. Ribbons of smoke streamed from his widened nostrils, and his eyes rolled up, exposing the whites.

  I wrapped my arms around my friend, clinging tightly to his heaving chest.

  A stream of unbearably white flame arched forward, devouring the warlocks along with their ship. In a blink of an eye, the warlocks were turned to ash. The black ship flashed like a huge fiery flower and fell apart, turning into a heap of coals.

  Captain Korst pulled the rudder, taking our ship away from the sizzling and hissing bonfire.

  Chapter 7

  The sailors deftly got a piece of sail under the hole in the ship’s side and began repairs on the rigging. The mutilated Anvil and a few more ships needing repair were closely guarded by the remnants of the Paarian flotilla.

  “I saw the death of Master Modron with my own eyes,” I said. “He was cussing and swinging his big mace till the very end.”

  “That’s him,” Master Penkaur nodded. “What a glorious death! Among the waves on the deck of a sinking ship!”

  “Death can’t be beautiful,” Ice hissed. “Damn, I’m so sick and tired of this ‘glory’ bullshit!” My friend’s voice was slightly hoarse, but otherwise he looked good. “I feel the pain of every man I kill,” he said. “Trust me, there is nothing beautiful or majestic in death.”

  Master Penkaur nodded. “I wonder what the warlocks felt when they died.”

  Ice smiled. “They were angry,” he said. “And they were surprised. Just for a moment.”

  Master Penkaur looked away. “The past few weeks have been the best days of my life,” he sighed. “We were sinking ships from dusk till dawn. They were so many…”

  “Any news from Master Aydiola?” I asked.

  “There’s news from Paara,” the captain said. “All wizards have been declared enemies of the state and are now outlawed.”

  “Really?” Ice smirked. “Are you going to put us in chains too?”

  Master Penkaur looked insulted. “I’ll be damned if I do! My brother and I are not that kind of people!”

  “Your brother was a great warrior,” I said.

  “Yeah, he’s a legend now.” Master Penkaur threw up his hands. “People will talk about his deeds and exploits in every port and every inn across the Thousand Islands!”

  “So?” Ice raised an eyebrow.

  “Damn,” Master Penkaur sniffed. “It will be real hard to outdo him…”

  Ice snorted. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m sure you will die a glorious death too.”

  Furtively, I gestured to my friend to shut up.

  “So what about Master Aydiola?”

  “Master Aydiola?” Master Penkaur was looking through me. “He’s on Suz Island and asked me to send him a ship.”

  “Any news from Master Gormant and his Punisher?”

  The captain shook his head. “So what shall we do now, Master Wizards?” he asked. “We need to repair The Anvil before we can make another move against the Gonkor alliance. We need money, and we need a safe harbour.”

  “Go back to Rodar,” I said. “I’m sure they will be happy to help you with the repairs. Meanwhile, Ice and I should visit Master Aydiola on Suz.”

  ✽✽✽

  It was just a four-day journey from Tin to Suz. We said goodbye to Captain Korst and his first mate Trockton, who had decided to join Master Penkaur on his way to Rodar.

  “As long as this war goes on we will not be able to return home,” said Captain Korst. “We’ll patch up our ship and sail to Mino. That’s the only kingdom that remains neutral.”

  I was not sure how much longer Mino would manage to keep its neutral state. The war was spreading like wildfire. Perhaps, at this very moment, their fleet was leaving the harbour, bound for Paara or Gonkor.

  We bade our farewells and sailed away.

  During our short trip we didn’t meet a single merchant, but pirates abounded in those parts. We felt perfectly safe watching them from the deck of our warship, for they were just some local fishermen, and their ships were no more than half-rotten fishing boats.

  Just once we encountered two old galleys who were brave enough to test their luck. Ice shot a fireball at them, and we laughed for a long time, watching them turn tail hurriedly.

  “You shouldn’t have let them go.” The captain shook his head. “They can still harm someone else.”

  No one dared to attack us after that, and Ice and I soon grew bored, spending our free time on the aft under the awning.

  Our oarsmen were telling jokes and singing songs, the marines were busy sharpening their swords and polishing their armour. The mood on the ship was upbeat.

  “Is it true,” asked the sergeant, “that Gonkor is no more?”

  “Well”—Ice scratched his chin—“it was still burning when we left.”

  “And their fleet is gone too!” The sergeant clapped his hands. “That is a decisive victory, sir!”

  “I wish it was, Sergeant,” I said. “But victory is still far away.”

  He raised his eyebrows, surprised. “How so, if Gonkor and Kortas are both defeated?” he asked. “Do you think that Mino and Piles will come at us too?”

  “No,” I said. “They are not our true enemies.”

  The sergeant frowned.

  “Our enemy is gold, flowing from somewhere far in the north,” Ice said. “The kings are blinded by their greed! Fifteen years of peace are forgotten, alliances are broken, religions are forsworn.”

  The sergeant shook his head. “The world was always at war,” he retorted. “Our ancestors were at war, the ancestors of our ancestors were at war. Kingdoms are forged in the crucible of war.”

  “It’s where they die,” Ice snorted. “Have you ever killed anyone?”

  The sergeant’s hands were covered in scars and tattoos. “Of course,” he said. “It’s my job.”

  “Good for you.” Ice patted him on the shoulder. “It’s a steady job!”

  The sergeant shrugged and returned to sharpening his already sharp sword.

  “He calls it a job!” snorted Ice.

  “It is,” I said.

  “But not for u
s!” Ice leaned on the bulwark. “But you know what? I like it better than being a goat shepherd in Antraga!” A smile slid across his freckled face. “I feel like a knight from your adventure books, Mark. I really like fighting monsters and warlocks, I like saving girls, I like travels and stuff, I like being your friend, Mark!”

  “I like being your friend too.” I smiled.

  “I know,” Ice nodded. “You are lucky man indeed to have such a noble friend!”

  It was difficult to keep a straight face talking to my friend. “Do you really think that knights fight because they like fighting?” I said.

  “Of course! Besides, they are bored all the time.” Ice yawned. “And they don’t like them damn goats.”

  I suspected there was some truth in my friend’s words, but I wanted to believe that true knights had another, more noble, goal.

  Suz appeared on the horizon four days later, as the captain had predicted. The entrance to the port was guarded by a huge warship.

  “It’s The Punisher!” Ice and I exclaimed in unison.

  Captain Gormant’s pentera looked battered, with signs of repair visible on its sides.

  “They are here!” cried Ice, shaking me by the shoulders. “They’re alive!”

  We noticed a familiar figure standing on the deck and shouted, waving our hands. The figure turned, dropped the bale of rope and leaned over the bulwark, shouting and waving madly. It was Bevid himself.

  The whole crew gathered to meet us on board The Punisher. Marines and sailors surrounded us on all sides, shaking our hands and slapping our backs.

  “Master Marcus, Master Ayssived!” Bevid squeezed my hand so hard that the bones cracked. “Next time you run off without warning, I’ll strangle you both by myself!”

  We laughed together; Bevid even wept a little.

  “Captain Gormant’s last hair turned grey when we came back without you!” wailed Bevid. “We even paid for a liturgy in the main temple of Orvad in Suz.”

  Ice laughed. “How is Lady Nameri?” he asked.

  “Lady Nameri is in good health, thank you.” Bevid immediately calmed down. “I even dined with her twice!”