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

by Stas Borodin

Only Mash remained unemotional. He scolded the cheering scouts and ordered them to keep quiet. “We have to find the bodies of our masters, to bury them with full honours.”

  Everyone fell silent, realizing that victory, no matter how sweet, has a terrible price.

  The scouts dismounted and scattered over the devastated camp. Human corpses were everywhere; they were lying on the ground mixed with debris, dead horses, dead monkeys in tiny silken clothes, and birds in smashed golden cages.

  We found our spearmen quickly; they lay on the hillside shoulder to shoulder. Even when dead they kept order.

  “Their necks are broken.” Ash leaned over the corpses, examining their faces.

  Telaris had not wasted time on the infantrymen. His terrible magic had killed them in an instant.

  Further down the hill, we found the dead Zontrakians. They were piled everywhere, armour broken, helmets split, shields shattered. There were at least a hundred of them.

  “Wow!” Ash was amazed. “The handiwork of Master Dante!”

  We began to turn the corpses over, hoping to find a master sorcerer under one of them.

  The sun descended toward the horizon, painting everything in lurid reds, as if not only the earth but also the heavens themselves were soaked with blood. I felt uneasy. The signs followed one after the other, and I, out of ignorance, could not read them.

  One of the scouts shouted, pointing his finger. Master Nikos was lying in the mud, pinned down by a huge Zontrakian warrior. A sword tip was sticking out of the Zontrakian’s back. The four of us managed to lift the giant and roll him to the side.

  The sorcerer’s chest was crushed, and half of his face was covered with a bloody crust. Crestfallen, we stood over the remains of a comrade, unable to utter a word.

  “Hurry, brothers!” Mash ordered. He led his horse closer and took the sorcerer’s hands, lifting the body.

  It turned out that the supply of miracles was not yet exhausted for the day. Nikos groaned and opened his eyes.

  We were all overjoyed. The scouts crowded around, trying to see first-hand that he was actually alive.

  “Where is the healer?” Ash yelled.

  A healer immediately knelt before the wounded Nikos and took his hand. Without saying a word, he untied the straps on his medicine bag, and right there, in the mud, began to mix the medication.

  “I’ll save him, if it’s not too late,” he muttered, frantically crushing the drugs with a pestle in the small bone bowl. “He’s a damn strong sorcerer, and sorcerers do not die easily!”

  “He’s hard as nails,” Mash agreed.

  We got Nikos into a half-upright position, and the healer hastily poured the drug into his mouth through a small silver funnel. All this time a half-opened eye was looking at us, but we could not know whether he saw anything, or whether he was aware of what was happening.

  Meanwhile, the scouts had found the body of Master Dante. The Master Sorcerer was lying on his side, his fingers still clenched around a huge mace.

  “Killed by a blow to the back.” Mash bent over the dead body. “His head was not severed, it was ripped off.”

  “Damned Telaris!” Ash hissed through his teeth. “Well, he got what he deserved.”

  Everyone turned to me and nodded approvingly.

  “The ointment helped me,” I said, blushing. “The stone resin.”

  “I’ve always believed that you were sent to us by Destiny,” Ash said. “It was Orvad himself who moved your hands today!”

  A few steps away, we found two abandoned wagons and grazing horses. Nikos was fast asleep and the healer sat nearby, holding his hand and watching his pulse.

  “He fell asleep.” The healer seemed pleased. “Now everything is in the hands of the gods.”

  Our little procession carefully descended the hill and set off in pursuit of the royal retinue.

  ✽✽✽

  The camp was full of wounded men. Soldiers with severe wounds were lying on carts, the less severely wounded helped the healers. Surgery was performed in a large tent, split by screens into several smaller rooms. There arrows were extracted, wounds were sewn up, and limbs were amputated.

  The overdosed soldiers had already come to their senses. They formed long rows, where they were examined by doctors and commanders.

  Dozens of orderlies, helpers and healers scurried around the large commander’s tent. Apothecaries, sitting at a long table, hastily mixed drugs.

  The guards here were stern and adamant, and I could not pass beyond the cordon. So I went from tent to tent, from healer to healer, looking for my father among the wounded. In response to my question, one of the doctors grabbed me by the arm and dragged me to a small shed standing on the edge of the camp.

  Korn was there. Seeing me, he struggled to his feet. His chest was bandaged with a clean white cloth on which bloodstains stood out in three places. He offered me his left hand for a handshake. His right hand was missing.

  “Come with me,” he said instead of a greeting. I realized that all my hopes had been in vain.

  Father lay on a desk behind a screen. He was covered with a cloak to the chin. His belongings were neatly stacked on the low bench.

  “I was preparing to dress him,” Korn said. “But I could not do it alone…”

  “Of course,” I said.

  A large bitter lump stuck in my throat. There were no tears. I’ll never cry after today, I thought. After all this pain, blood, fear and hope.

  “We won, Korn,” I said. “That’s all that matters. We saved all those we love, but we were not allowed to save ourselves.”

  “You are right, my lord.” The squire knelt in front of me. “It was an honour to serve you.”

  I just sighed, then went to my father and put my hand on his chest. His face was calm, even peaceful. His long white hair was carefully combed and hanging off the table.

  “Tell me how he died,” I said. “And how you lost an arm.”

  Korn did not dare to raise his eyes. I looked at my father and vowed that I would never abandon the wounded squire, that he would always have a place in our house.

  “When the nomads’ cavalry crashed into us,” Korn started, “we were on the right wing. They started to press us hard, but after a while we managed to straighten the ranks and to push the enemy back.”

  The squire looked at my father and sighed. “We thought we would launch a counterattack, but the nomads used a new trick. This time we were assaulted by huge battle buffaloes. They were ironclad from head to toe, even their terrible horns were steel coated. Three warriors with long lances rode on each beast, striking our riders from their saddles.”

  Korn lifted his head; his eyes were brimming with tears. “Two dozen of those foul creatures rushed directly to the king. It was terrifying! Master Marius hastened to intercept the enemy with his guards, and I was with them. The creatures roared so terribly that our horses refused to approach them, so we dismounted and fought on foot. Master Marius blocked their way to the king. We took the pikes, but they broke on their armour. Then we began to hack at them with great axes. No matter how hard we fought, in the end we were forced to retreat.”

  The squire coughed. I poured a cup of water and handed it to him.

  “Then Master Marius ordered us to take the hand-held fire throwers, and we started to burn those damned beasts. Even so, they broke through our ranks. Then the king’s bodyguards entered the fight. Many of ours were killed, but we were finally able to deal with the monsters.”

  “And the king did not use his spells to destroy these creatures?” I was surprised.

  Korn shrugged in reply. “The king knows best …”

  The squire paused to catch his breath. I saw that he needed to talk; otherwise it would burn him from the inside.

  “While we were fighting off the buffaloes, a squad of Amines infiltrated our ranks. They struck the king from the rear. There were nearly twenty of them!”

  I remembered how difficult it had been to capture even one Amine.
<
br />   “They fought like demons, and our soldiers were killed one by one. We stood shoulder to shoulder, protecting the king. Master Keandr himself fought like a lion. He alone wiped out most of the assassins, but the damage they managed to inflict was truly terrible. Masters Ertur and Snomark were lost, Lira and Pentora, Vengra and Lotur, almost all the squires and all the pages …”

  I was dumbstruck. All these names I knew from childhood. These squires and pages were my friends.

  “Master Marius was wounded several times, his armour was pierced, and his helmet flew off his head, but he continued to fight. He became a living royal shield and intercepted every blow that might have hit the king …”

  “And you were my father’s shield?” I asked, staring at the squire. “You were a very strong shield!”

  “But I wasn’t fast enough,” Korn frowned. “I should have been faster.”

  Father’s armour was lying right there. It was dented and pierced in many places. The squire had already washed away the blood and dirt so that it shone like new. I looked at my grotesque reflection in the deformed cuirass. This man was a stranger to me. He did not look like the boy who had recently left his home in search of fame and great deeds.

  How naive I had been only a few weeks ago. Time seemed to change pace just for me and had turned a careless youth into a full-grown man.

  “I really appreciate what you did for my family,” I said. “And I hope that you will continue to serve us for many years to come.”

  Korn came to me and knelt down. “I promise to serve you faithfully, until my last breath.”

  “Arise.” I took the squire’s hand. “No one can take your place in the house of Grimm. And now, let’s dress my father. Our journey home will be long.”

  Part 2

  Chapter 1

  Lieh was unwelcoming, as if there had been no victory. I wasn’t expecting a triumphal procession, but did not anticipate such indifference.

  The streets were deserted. Only dogs barked, and guards in red cloaks scurried back and forth. The scout troop passed freely through the main gate. The city guards looked at us with hostility.

  “What’s wrong with them?” Ash asked. “Is this any way to greet the victors?”

  It was quite possible that the citizens did not know about our return. I knew that they were all worried about their sons, husbands and brothers who had gone to battle with the nomads.

  The rooftops were already painted with the pink colours of dawn, but in the narrow streets down below twilight still reigned.

  My heart was restless. The victory had cost us too much, and our return would be a day of mourning for many families.

  Our unit had to warn the quartermasters, healers and foragers of the arrival of the army. Moreover, we had an urgent message from Master Keandr.

  “We have to split up,” I said. “I’ll go with the papers to the palace, and you ride straight to the barracks.”

  The scouts silently turned their horses, but the red-cloaked guards blocked their way.

  The captain, dressed in expensive elegant armour, stepped forward. His shoulder was decorated with the epaulettes of the Unicorn Company. “You’re under arrest,” he said. “I advise you not to resist and calmly hand over your weapons.”

  I could not believe my ears, and turned to the surprised scouts.

  “By whose order?” asked Mash. His large hand rested on the hilt of his sword. Scouts were always ready to fight.

  “On the orders of Lord Brezel,” the captain replied. “We have to detain all who come to the city for identification. Do not make trouble, and you will be released as soon as the formalities are complied with.”

  We looked at each other, and I realized that Mash did not trust the captain.

  “We don’t obey Lord Brezel. We don’t obey the kings,” Ash carelessly spat. “In case you haven’t noticed, we are scouts. We answer only to our master sorcerer’s commands!”

  “Well, and who is this master sorcerer?” the captain replied with a grin. “I have heard that there was one. And where is he now?”

  The scouts’ sabres left their scabbards with a screech. The guards closed their ranks and lowered their spears. These thugs did not look like a simple urban militia. Scars on their weather-beaten faces betrayed experienced warriors.

  Mash raised his hand, stopping us. “You seem to be well informed about everything,” he said, eyeing the soldiers through narrowed eyes.

  “Lay down your arms,” the captain smirked, “and we will stay good friends.”

  I turned around, looking for Ash, but he had just vanished – along with his horse and bales of booty. How he did it, I could only guess.

  Mash, however, gave no sign that he had noticed the disappearance of his comrade.

  “Well”—the old scout dropped his hand—“we’ll go with you, but on condition that your dogs will not touch my men.”

  The captain thought for a moment, then smiled charmingly and made an inviting gesture with his hand.

  ✽✽✽

  “You can give me the dispatches.” A man in a dark-blue jacket held out his hand. “Come on, boy, I don’t have all day!”

  I disliked that person from the start. I did not know who he was, as he did not bother to introduce himself, but he behaved like someone important. My instincts told me he was a dangerous man. His polite tone could change at any moment, and then I’d be in trouble.

  The papers were in my bag. They could take them away any time they wished to. Pulling the dispatches out, I handed them to the stranger. Without looking at me, he took the envelope and, without delay, broke the wax seal.

  “How dare you!” I was outraged. “This is a letter to the king!”

  The official looked at me indifferently. “Which king?” His tone was serious. “Lieh has no king.”

  This was ridiculous. Maybe the official just wanted to taunt me?

  “How can that be?” I almost choked. “Did something happen to Master Lysander?”

  “Something happened?” The official raised his eyebrows. “Well, I suppose you could say so. Something really happened. Now go. You did your best, boy, and you deserve a rest.”

  The guard grabbed me by the elbow, interrupting our conversation. I was unceremoniously pushed out into the hall and escorted to the prison courtyard.

  The sun had risen high above my head, filling the small square with unbearable heat. My shadow shortened, hiding under the soles of my boots. Noon was approaching.

  The prison yard was empty except for my fellow scouts huddled together around the well. I walked briskly over to Mash.

  “Do you know what’s going on?” I asked. “I think they have all gone mad!”

  Mash drank his water slowly and passed the ladle on.

  “Why,” he said, wiping his hands on his beard. “Everything is quite logical. Knowing Lord Brezel, it was to be expected.”

  I wasn’t familiar with Lord Brezel, so I didn’t see any logic.

  “And this official”—I nodded over my shoulder—“he said that Lieh has no king…”

  Mash anxiously followed my gaze, his moustache bristling angrily. “That is very bad news.” He lowered his voice and looked around. “I didn’t think he would dare!”

  Something strange had happened. Even the old scout looked puzzled.

  “Listen to me.” The old scout leaned over to my ear. “It seems that during our absence there was a coup in Lieh. Lord Brezel has been eyeing the throne for a very long time, and he finally had his chance.”

  Our scouts looked carefree. They were cheerfully chatting with each other, splashing water.

  Mash shook his head. “Look”—he started to count on his fingers—“the Dragon Company was destroyed, the palace guard has perished, and there is only a pitiful handful of the royal bodyguards left. Master Dante has been killed and Master Keandr seriously wounded. Can you imagine a better time to seize power?”

  “And what about the king?” I was surprised.

  “What about
him?” Mash shrugged. “Master Keandr and Master Dante were his most reliable allies. They were the pillars. Without their support, he is nothing.”

  “Understood,” I nodded, biting my lip. “And then, Lord Brezel came to the city with his army.”

  “Yes, and only a fool would not seize such an opportunity,” Mash said. “Brezel may be a scoundrel, but he is not a fool.”

  “What do we do?” I was seriously alarmed.

  “Let’s pray that Ash reached the king as soon as possible,” Mash said. “At the moment, we have other concerns …”

  The old scout nodded to the balcony surrounding the courtyard. On the balcony there were crossbowmen with weapons at the ready.

  “We have to get out of this situation at any cost.” Mash grabbed me by the elbow. “Do you understand me? At any cost! We need to stay alive, so don’t do anything stupid!”

  The scouts also noticed the shooters and cautiously kept quiet.

  “Stay calm,” ordered Mash. “Do what I say!”

  A familiar figure emerged from the shadows of the balcony. It was the same captain who had brought us here.

  “My friends,” he said with a wry smile. “Circumstances force us to be very careful—”

  “What do you want?” Mash cut him off. “Get to the point!”

  “I was told that scouts are terrible louts,” the captain chuckled.

  Mash raised his clenched fist, ordering everyone to stand still and not to respond to the provocation.

  “I was told”—the captain looked at Mash with approval—“that scouts also possess the most excellent patience.”

  “I have to admire your flattery?” Mash raised his eyebrows and stroked his moustache, so that no one could see him smile.

  “Well, go to Mistar,” the captain grinned. “I want you to lay down your weapons. You will be placed in custody until the command decides what to do with you.”

  “What can I say?” The Master Scout shrugged. “Do we have a choice?”

  “Well of course!” the captain grinned. “You can send me to Mistar and die disgracefully right here and now.”