Magic, Sorcery and Witchcraft: Book One of Marcus Grimm saga

by Stas Borodin

  “We’ve already made the decision, whether you like it or not,” finished Master Lysander. “The troops will march at midnight.”

  ✽✽✽

  The night was warm and I soon began to sweat in my heavy battle gear. Under my armour my back itched terribly, but I had to endure it. My horse snorted impatiently, stamping on the stone pavement. Long columns of palace guards marched past me, their black shadows gliding over the ground, their weapons and armour gleaming under the hard light of portable gas spheres.

  The king and his entourage occupied the top of a small hill, with a wonderful view over the night-time Lieh, illuminated by lights on the watchtowers.

  A panting messenger ran up to me and handed me an envelope. “An order from Commander Marius. Adjutant Marcus Grimm is transferred to the command of Master Dante – senior scout of the Right Wing!”

  I shivered, despite my warm robe and hot night. I’d heard a lot about the exploits of the Master Sorcerer.

  About a year ago, my father had sent me to the scouts with a message for Master Dante. Their headquarters were in Lower Lieh, at the very end of Tanners Street. It was one of the oldest and poorest districts of the city where black holes gaped in leaky roofs, blind windows were bricked or boarded up, and heavy locks, hanging on rickety doors, were covered with a thick layer of red rust.

  The house in which the headquarters of the scouts was located looked more like a fortress, a very old fortress that had not stood the siege of time and bad weather. Pale blue paint was peeling from high plastered walls, the bars on the windows were rusty, and the roof on a small turret had caved in a long time ago.

  A huge fellow dressed in a black baggy robe was sitting at the gate on a folding chair. His jacket stretched tightly across his back and hung loosely under the armpits. Near the wall was a leather case with javelins, and a curved cavalry sabre lay across his thick knees.

  Glancing at my badge, he shook his head, pointing to the door at the far end of the courtyard.

  The square courtyard was paved with cracked coloured tiles. Waves of green ivy descended from the walls, and dusty palm trees stood in cracked pots filled with dry red earth.

  Crossing the yard, I heard only my own footsteps and a strange unpleasant sound, as if someone was slapping a wet cloth against a wall. I looked through the open door. In the centre of a bare room with his back to me on the floor sat a man. His broad back was covered with long bloody lines. The splashes of blood on the white walls and white-washed floor looked black. A man’s hand rose, and a wide leather belt with an iron buckle slapped him hard on the back. Blood sprayed and hit me right in the face. Startled, I stepped back, but someone’s strong hand gripped my shoulder. It was the fat guard with a sabre on his belt.

  “Excuse me, Master Dante. There is some pup from the Upper Town, with a message from headquarters.” The big man squeezed my arm.

  Once again, Master Dante lashed his back, this time leaving the belt hanging over his pale bony shoulder. A large palm painted with black paint rose up. The gatekeeper pushed me in the back and I quickly placed the dispatch into the sorcerer’s open palm.

  The gatekeeper grabbed me roughly by the collar and lifted me off the ground. Glancing back, I saw that Master Dante was still sitting, holding the scroll in his raised hand.

  After a brief pause, the disgusting slaps resumed with renewed vigour.

  ✽✽✽

  Master Dante rode on a small steppe horse. I recognized him at once, as soon as I saw the black fingers holding the reins. The hood of his travelling cloak concealed his face in deep impenetrable shadows so I could see only his arms and the hilt of his cavalry sabre.

  Approaching closer, I reported. The sorcerer paid me no attention; he was listening to a young adjutant who was speaking to him in a hushed voice.

  Not wanting to disturb them, I pulled on the reins and drove off to the side. Nearby stood a small group of scouts on horseback. Their horses grazed calmly, without breaking the perfect formation. The riders were armed with short curved bows, cavalry sabres and light lances painted in black. I did not see any armour. Their shapeless robes were dirty-brown, tied up under their arms and round the waist. On their feet they wore soft felt shoes and they had turbans on their heads which hid their faces completely.

  “They are nomads too,” someone addressed me. I turned around and saw the young adjutant who had been speaking with Master Dante a moment ago. “Bad tempered and hard as tanned leather.”

  The adjutant offered me his hand. “I am Nikos, Lord Dante’s aide.”

  I shook his outstretched hand and introduced myself.

  “It is possible that the Master Sorcerer will never speak to you.” Nikos nodded at his commander. “Do not take offence, boy, he’s just too busy.”

  “No offence taken. Excuse me if I behaved rudely.” I felt myself blushing.

  “The scouts are not regular troops,” Nikos added. “We have our own chain of command, Master Dante – the Chief Scout and head of the warlocks guild, but on the march the scouts report directly to me. Understood?”

  Nikos slapped me on the shoulder, looking at my gear. “Don’t worry, kid, you’ll do good. He smiled. “You’re probably thinking about joining our guild?”

  “No.” I was a little surprised. “I’m taking the exams at the Academy in the spring.”

  “How stupid of me.” Nikos smiled again. “Of course, the son of a famous general can’t be a lowly battle sorcerer… Well, at least you’ll get a taste of real combat, and you’ll have a couple of stories to tell your friends at the Academy.”

  I blushed with embarrassment. I knew that the wizards of the Academy did not get along with sorcerers. They regarded them as inferior magicians, lower even than the nomads’ sorcerers. I had no doubt that the dislike was mutual.

  “But Master Keandr?” I said cautiously, “he is a battle wizard, just like Master Dante.”

  “Master Keandr?” Nikos laughed. “He’s one of a kind, but he and Master Dante are much alike. The great Dragon of Lieh and the terrible Hands of Darkness! If you’re lucky you’ll see them in action pretty soon.”

  “Flames of Annuvir…” I whispered, looking up the hill, where the blue lights of staff aides flickered.

  “Yes, some call him that,” Nikos said. He pointed at my elegant cuirass and at my sword in its expensive silver sheath. “I’m afraid that all this finery will have to go. We’ll find you something better.”

  ✽✽✽

  The heavens had already brightened, but in the ravine between the hills it was still dark. The scouts’ ponies trod the rocky slope confidently. They were nimble as mountain goats, hardy and accommodating.

  It was incredible, but I could guide my new mount using only my knees. She understood me perfectly, as if anticipating my every move and every thought.

  Nikos had equipped me with the utmost care.

  The scout’s robe did not constrain movement, and it wasn’t hot, unlike the steel breastplate. My sabre in its sheath of wolf-skin did not clang when it struck the saddle, and the saddle itself was very comfortable, perfectly designed for long journeys. After many hours racing across the country I wasn’t tired and did not feel like I had been soundly whipped.

  Most of the scouts were armed with small composite bows too powerful for me, and Nikos allowed me to keep my old hunting crossbow instead.

  “Bows are for the simple folk, right?” he said. I knew he didn’t want to embarrass me in front of the scouts.

  Our small detachment avoided climbing steep hills. Nikos usually sent a few scouts on ahead, who crawled to the top of the hill and kept watch while the entire squad waited in silence in a ravine.

  Three days we spent under the open skies. At night we did not start a fire, and ate mostly stale bread and hard dried meat. The nights were warm, so I wasn’t cold, but to sleep on the bare ground was not an easy task for a city boy. My whole body ached at first, as if someone had whacked me hard with a club.

  The scouts talked lit
tle, preferring to communicate in their own language, using gestures. It was easier to understand each other at full gallop or at a distance. They were wiry, hardy warriors. Basically, no older than me, but there were several veterans among them whose opinion was always the ultimate authority.

  I understood that in our squad I was useless. However, I tried to be helpful, and did not shy away from any work. At the start of each rest stop, I dug a deep hole in the ground, and after all the scouts had relieved themselves, I filled it in again, masking any traces of our short stay. One of the veterans even hemmed approvingly, appreciating my work.

  Before going to bed, I sat down next to Nikos and we talked. He told me all about the scout life and about combat sorcerers.

  Nikos was a master sorcerer himself. He had no special talents; however, he had a phenomenal memory and an ability to grasp everything on the fly.

  “Even if I had a Gift,” Nikos told me, “I still could not enter the Academy.”

  It appeared that only rich kids could study at the Academy, while the sorcerers would take anyone.

  “In our group there were five people,” said Nikos. “We’re still good friends, unlike the wizards, who hate their own kind.”

  It emerged that studying to be a combat sorcerer was difficult and the living conditions unbearable. Students lived in cold cells, with no amenities or furnishings. They slept on the bare floor, wrapped in a thin coat, putting a fist under their head for a pillow. Food was scarce, and young sorcerers were often starving. It was strictly forbidden to have any money and own property.

  However, in spite of the harsh life, the young sorcerers forged true friendships of which wizards could not even dream. Misery and suffering brought people together, connecting them for life with unbreakable invisible bonds.

  At that moment I discovered that more than anything else, I wanted to become part of such a brotherhood.

  “Nonsense!” Nikos grinned. “In fact, there is no sorcerer who would not gladly trade his dirty grey robe for the white mantle of a wizard. However, if you have no special Gift, then it’s better to be a sorcerer than a lowly spearman. Right?”

  “Wait a minute! You mean to say that Master Dante does not have the Gift?” I was shocked.

  “Well,” Nikos mused. “You see, his strength is different. We are made of different stuff, boy. We cannot subdue the power of the elements as wizards do. Sorcery is akin to magic, but it’s blood, sweat and pain. No romance.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said, puzzled. “What is Master Dante’s strength?”

  “You shall see.” Nikos smiled grimly. “You shall see.”

  Chapter 3

  The sky was overcast with a grey veil of sand suspended in the air. It was hard to breathe. Everything became colourless. The green grass that covered the hills turned into a dusty grey carpet rippled by rapid waves. I buttoned my coat tightly and brushed away the thin layer of sand covering the case of my crossbow.

  The scouts on either side of me were standing in close formation, one horse’s head close to another. Their faces under their turbans were tense. It looked like the weather did not bode well.

  A scout came down from the top of the hill and ran up to Master Dante. He reported calmly as always, in detail, showing the terrain and the direction of the intended movement with his hands. Nikos turned to us and raised his hand with spread fingers.

  I had not seen that signal before, so I did not understand its meaning right away. Meanwhile, the scouts took their bows out, getting ready for a battle.

  My heart skipped a beat. Then my ears rang with a rush of blood and I felt myself a little dizzy. It seemed that this would be my first real fight. A fight with the same nomads who were strong enough to crush the Dragon Company.

  I pulled my crossbow out of its case, desperately trying to stop my hands shaking. Resting the crossbow’s stirrup against the pommel of my saddle, I pressed its stock firmly into my stomach. Exhaling, I pulled the string with both hands. Putting the cocked crossbow across the saddle, I opened the quiver, checking if I could reach the bolts without looking.

  The scouts around me perked up. They looked excited and they were smiling. Hastily muttering prayers, they kissed figurines of different deities carved out of stone and bone. The warrior to my right pulled out from under his clothes a small terracotta horse and kissed it twice. When he saw me looking, he nodded and handed it to me. I carefully kissed the small talisman, still warm from his body heat. The scout laughed and slapped me on the back.

  Nikos and Master Dante steered their horses up the hill, and we went after them in single file. On the top of the hill, the sorcerers threw off their coats, revealing their slender muscular torsos to the waist. The scouts howled approvingly.

  Their backs was covered with tattoos. Intertwining bands of black and red ran down over their shoulders straight to their chests. It looked as if the sorcerers had been skinned alive, glistening with bloody naked muscles.

  I watched them, trying not to miss a thing. They were calm and focused. It seemed to me that the very air around them was shimmering. The tension grew rapidly. I even felt the hair on my arms stand on end. Our horses also perked up, grunting; they champed at their bridles and tossed their heads.

  I saw the nomads from the top of the hill. They were still far away and could not yet be counted, but they were many. Not a whole army, but a pretty big detachment, two or three hundred strong. My companions were preparing for battle, and I was most scared. We were just twenty riders against several hundred.

  Eventually, they saw us too. The nomads were moving faster and louder than an avalanche. I held my breath, feeling the earth trembling under me.

  I saw the glistening steel armour of heavy cavalry and long bamboo spears crowned by painted horsetails. Closer to us I spotted a score of horse archers in thick padded jackets. Their bows were black and their quivers were full of red-feathered arrows.

  My heart was beating wildly, as if trying to escape from my chest. I glanced at the young soldiers around me. They looked excited too, but at the same time they were calm and relaxed, taking arrows out of quivers.

  As my father had taught me, I estimated the distance and the speed at which the enemies were approaching. Damn, they were fast! I could do no more than two or three shots before we came in range of their bows.

  The danger drew closer with every heartbeat. Breathing deeply, I tried to calm down and pull myself together.

  Directly in front of me, Master Dante raised his black hands to the sky. He said something, but the words were indistinguishable, drowned in the approaching thunder.

  Without waiting for orders, I pulled the trigger. The arrow shot forward, and one of the nomads flew out of his saddle, as if an invisible fist had knocked him out. Something exploded inside of me. Raging fire scorched my guts and everything became extremely crisp and clear. Fear burned out, leaving behind a swirling bitter void. In that instant I saw the faces of the approaching riders with such clarity, as if they were painted on a mural. Their shrieking gaping mouths, strung bows, and menacingly lowered lances. For a moment all my senses went numb. I reloaded the crossbow mechanically and fired a second arrow. Another nomad fell out of his saddle and hit the ground. In the blink of an eye, he was crushed by a roaring unstoppable avalanche.

  Nikos turned in his saddle, and I saw his face as if through a magnifying glass, every pore on his nose, every broken capillary in his eye. The sorcerer smiled and gave me a thumbs-up. Meanwhile, I loaded another arrow.

  And then, something happened.

  I saw Master Dante’s black palms turning to the enemy, his fingers slowly curling. At the same moment, the heavy enemy cavalry was swept away like a handful of ash, brushed away by a giant invisible broom.

  I saw the enemy soldiers shuddering, as if from unbearable pain. Their spears, aimed at us a moment before, fell heavily into dust. Riders were falling to the ground like broken dolls. Some of them managed to stay in the saddle, but they were swaying lifelessly fro
m side to side or hanging listlessly from the necks of their horses.

  Master Dante twisted his fists.

  Blood spurted. Bloodied enemies on bloody horses fell, knocking down and trampling each other. I could hear only the plaintive neighing of horses. People I did not hear. The riders were already dead.

  The light cavalry somehow escaped the terrible blow dealt by the sorcery. Leaving behind the chaos and confusion, they rushed toward us. Hundreds of arrows simultaneously soared into the air, filling our ears with a frightening howl. I shot again but did not see whether I managed to hit the target.

  The scouts watched the deadly buzzing cloud approaching us impassively. I turned to Master Dante, waiting for his reaction, but he just watched.

  Nikos stepped forward, raised his hands and clapped them. The bloodcurdling howl stopped abruptly. With a deafening crash, arrows exploded in the air, showering us with bits of metal and hot crackling ashes.

  Our scouts raised their bows and began to shoot enemies almost point-blank. Horses raced past me, glistening with bloody empty saddles. The attack became bogged down.

  The scouts lowered their bows and a triumphant battle cry swept across the field. There was silence, broken only by the groans of the wounded and the fading hoof beats of fleeing horses.

  I could not scream, my throat was dry, as if filled with hot sand. One of the scouts looked approvingly at my crossbow and waved me in the direction of the battlefield. He pointed with his spear at a moaning nomad.

  “No,” I whispered and shook my head. “No!”

  Our riders scattered across the field, finishing off the wounded. Nikos, already dressed, was listening to Master Dante’s orders.

  The grinning scout shook his spear at me. “Don’t be a pussy, lad,” he said. “Do what you must!”

  I hesitantly took the weapon. Despite its small size, the spear was pretty heavy. Its smooth polished shaft was wrapped with a sweat-soaked leather strap. The scout winked at me and, with a cheerful whooping, galloped away.