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

by Stas Borodin

  “Are you all right, Captain?” My mother raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Your cheeks are burning.”

  The captain blushed. “Probably something fleeting,” he said. “Perhaps I caught it in your house?”

  “I can offer a cure.” Korn frowned. His left hand rested on his sword hilt.

  “I’m afraid that bloodletting does not help this disease,” the captain said timidly. He bowed gallantly and handed me a scroll with a red wax seal.

  I looked at the imprint in the wax and threw the scroll at his feet. “Since when does Lord Brezel use the royal wax?”

  The captain lifted the scroll and handed it over again, this time to my mother. “Ever since he became king of Lieh.”

  Mother looked appraisingly at the man, took the scroll and broke the seal. Having read the document, she handed it to me. “We are summoned to the royal court. That’s all.”

  I could not believe my ears. “You must be kidding, Captain?” I clenched my fists. “So this is how you are dealing with this case?”

  Santo Van lowered his eyes humbly and put his hands behind his back. “You’ll soon understand the complexity of the case.” He bowed without looking up. “I’m sorry, but I have to go. It was nice to see you, madam.”

  Korn grabbed his sword once again, but Santo Van had already turned and briskly left the room.

  “What a fool I was when I put my trust in that man!” I sighed.

  “What did you expect?” Mother shrugged. “You’ll need a lot of experience to compete with a fox such as our captain.”

  She turned to Korn and snapped her fingers. “Please escort Master Ethel home, and make sure that no one robs him on the way.”

  “Very funny, madam,” the moneylender laughed, taking a bagful of coins. “If you ever need money, I will be always happy to help you.”

  Smiling kindly, Korn pushed the moneylender from the room.

  The day had been spoiled and it was still only morning!

  “Let’s go hunting!” Korn suggested to me. “It would be nice to unwind, escape this town for a while.”

  I was ready to kiss the squire for such an idea. Travelling over the vast steppes I had often thought about Lieh, but now I was greatly missing the endless plains, hot wind and bitter-sweet smell of the steppe grass.

  We ran to the stables and quickly saddled our horses. I was pleased to see how cleverly Korn used his one hand. When he had to tighten the straps, he used his teeth. When he needed to hold something, he used both his knees.

  “How’s your arm?” I asked. “Does it still hurt?”

  “No, it does not hurt,” he shrugged. “But sometimes I simply forget that I don’t have it any more, and then I try to grab something… gods, I feel stupid …”

  I nodded and clapped him on the back.

  “There is one master in Lieh who makes artificial limbs,” Korn continued. “He makes legs and arms mostly. With these prosthetic devices the crippled can run and dance again, write and even draw!”

  “That is just great!” I cried. “We will make you a new hand! We are rich now, and we can afford it.”

  The squire bowed low and his lips quivered.

  “What’s the matter, Korn?” I asked. “If we need something in our household, do not hesitate to say. If a shovel breaks or an axe becomes blunt. Your hands are also a tool. A very important tool. We should visit this master right away, let’s not waste time.”

  Korn looked down, trying not to meet my eyes. “I am very ashamed, Master Marcus. I knew that you would not refuse me, and was only waiting for the chance to ask you …”

  “Really?” I chuckled. “Have you already met this master?”

  “Yes, sir.” Korn blushed. “But I don’t have enough money—”

  “Marcus is right!” My mother joined us, stepping quietly on the straw-covered floor. “How much money do we need?”

  “I already have twenty gold pieces,” the squire blurted out. “We need a hundred more.”

  “For that kind of money I could equip five warriors from head to toe.” Mother smiled and handed me a heavy purse. “However, our faithful squire’s hand is much more valuable to us.”

  Korn dropped to one knee and bowed his head.

  “You were wounded defending your master,” my mother said. “It’s the least we can do for you.”

  ✽✽✽

  Master Kesarn’s workshop was located in a small two-storey building. Open gates were guarded by a black sken dressed in mustard-coloured trousers and a white turban. On his belt he wore a huge curved blade.

  In the courtyard a richly dressed man with a stump instead of a right leg was sitting on a low bench. A young apprentice took the measurements of the stump and carefully wrote them down on a large sheet of parchment.

  Korn entered the house confidently. The room was cool and smelled of leather and some kind of oils. The walls were lined with shelves filled with variety of samples of artificial limbs.

  “Can you imagine, these things here are ready for use,” the squire explained to me excitedly. “You can pick any of them. Then the master will adjust the connection according to the measurements made by his pupil, and the prosthesis can be worn immediately.”

  Korn could barely contain his impatience, scratching his stump from time to time. “Rich clients usually buy several prostheses. Something elegant and light for everyday use and something sturdy and reliable for war.”

  “And what did you choose?” I asked. I was eager to see my squire with a new hand.

  “One suitable for war, of course!” Korn said in a tone that made me feel that I had asked the stupidest question in the whole world.

  Master Kesarn came out to meet us. He was a lean middle-aged man with a very dark brown skin. His long hair was braided in pigtails decorated with gold beads.

  “Master Korn, it’s always a pleasure to see you! Have you come back to admire your new hand, or have you brought the money?”

  “We brought the money,” I said, and handed him the purse. Korn hastily handed over his smaller one too.

  Without opening the wallets, the master prosthetist weighed them in his hand and nodded. “Come on, gentlemen”—he gestured—“it’s time to do the transplant.”

  The large, well-lit room was more like an operating theatre than a workshop. A metal chair with a high back and leather straps on the armrests was standing by the window.

  Master Kesarn smiled reassuringly. “Don’t worry, good sir, everything will be fine!”

  A girl dressed in white brought a tray filled with shiny instruments.

  “The boy can play in the garden,” Master Kesarn said. “It’s gonna be messy in here. Why scare the child?”

  “He is my master!” The steel rang in Korn’s voice. “He won’t be scared by some blood.”

  I smiled, watching the squire.

  “I beg your pardon, gentlemen,” the prosthetist threw up his hands. “I thought the young master was your son. I did not mean to offend anyone.”

  The girl brought a big box padded with blue velvet and set it on the table in front of the squire.

  “Now let us decide how we are going to do the transplantation.” Master Kesarn looked excited. “A lot will depend on this.”

  He pulled the hand out of the box and showed it to us.

  “By gods!” the squire’s eyes shone.

  The craftsmanship in the prosthesis was simply amazing. It was an exact replica of a human hand. Fingernails, protruding veins, each crease – all was in place, only made out of bluish steel.

  “If you want to be able to remove the prosthesis – at bedtime or before you take a bath, for instance – it will not be a real transplantation and the limb will react more slowly to the signals from your brain. The operation will be quite simple and painless,” Master Kesarn explained. “If the prosthesis is to be worn constantly, and you do not plan to buy another one, then the transplantation will be irrevocable. The prosthesis cannot be removed, but I can assure you it will operate even be
tter than a real arm. However, I must warn you, it is a very painful procedure…”

  “Let’s do a complete transplantation,” Korn said. “And do it as quickly as possible, sir. We’re going hunting today!”

  Master Kesarn smiled and bowed. He took the prosthesis in hand, and I saw that the prosthetic fingers were moving by themselves. I realized that magic was also used here.

  “Are you a wizard, good sir?” I asked, intrigued.

  “Of course not,” Master Kesarn answered. “You could say that I am a mage, and a very weak one to boot. You see, all of my ancestors have made prostheses. No one taught us witchcraft. Artificial limbs that’s all we know…”

  Master Kesarn took a sharp scalpel and, whistling softly to himself, began to open Korn’s barely healed stump. “Be patient, sir,” he said. “The pain is an important part of the magic.”

  The girls were busy handing him tools. The master prosthetist pressed something with long surgical clamps, pulled something with shiny tweezers, all the while muttering inaudibly under his breath.

  Strangely, there was little blood. The few drops that appeared under the scalpel were immediately wiped off with a clean cloth.

  Korn’s face turned grey with pain. One of the aides dabbed his forehead with a towel soaked in some fragrant substance. Master Kesarn leaned back for a moment, and I saw what had become of the squire’s stump. It was as if it had been turned inside out. A number of tendons, veins and arteries protruded from it. Caught with dozens of tiny gold clamps, they were sticking out in different directions, just like broken twigs on an old broom.

  I staggered and swallowed all the bitterness that filled my mouth. One of the aides looked at me and smiled.

  Master Kesarn took the artificial arm and brought it to the squire’s mangled stump. I managed to see how the severed blood vessels and tendons began to move on their own and the prosthesis sucked them all in.

  Korn howled like a wild beast, desperately clutching the armrest of the chair with his good hand.

  “I did warn you,” Master Kesarn shrugged. “You have to bear the pain.”

  Korn was lying in the chair unable to move.

  “Take it, please.” The prosthetist handed him an apple.

  The squire squinted and looked at the fruit, but did not dare move.

  “Come on!” I encouraged him, moving closer to see the prosthesis better.

  The steel hand went up, the fingers twitched.

  “It will take some time before the hand learns to communicate freely with the brain,” Master Kesarn said. “This is their first acquaintance.”

  Korn tightened his fingers and the apple burst, spraying the juice in different directions.

  “I would advise you not to shake hands for a while,” the prosthetist said. “Train constantly. The hand will work fine, but you will never be able to feel the touch. Just keep that in mind.”

  Korn watched dumbfounded as his fingers unclenched and sticky pulp dripped down to the floor.

  “Take care of your prosthesis just as for a simple gauntlet. Lubricate it with oil and make sure that there is no rust, and it will serve you the rest of your days.”

  We went out to the patio, where everything was fitted for training with artificial limbs. A stout elderly man with a gold-plated steel foot carefully climbed the stone steps holding on to rope handrails.

  “How are you feeling, sir?” Master Kesarn approached the man. “Still feel uncomfortable?”

  The man sat down on the step and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. “Nah, used to it already.” The fat man was breathing heavily. “Now my wife will think twice before cheating on me! All the damn servants are already shaking when they hear my footsteps!”

  Master Kesarn laughed and patted the patient on the back. “Your body is untrained, dear sir, so please don’t overexert yourself! Step by step, we’ll whip you into shape.”

  We stopped in front of a special platform designed for hand prostheses training. There were different windlasses, weights and rope loops.

  “You have acquired a military-grade prosthesis with special built-in abilities,” the girl assistant explained to us. “To begin with, you should test the power of your fingers.”

  She led us to a massive tree trunk lying on the ground. “Put your hands on top.” She showed him how. “Now squeeze your fingers with all your might!”

  The fingers on the healthy hand turned white from the strain, but the mechanical arm lay still.

  “The signal from your brain isn’t reaching the prosthesis yet,” the girl explained patiently. “Just listen to your feelings. What’s going on in your good arm? What muscles are tensing up? Think about the mental orders what you are sending to your fingers. Try to convey those sensations to the other hand. It will be much easier at first to operate with both hands simultaneously, but with time you will learn how to use a prosthetic hand as a real one, without even thinking.”

  Once again, Korn put his hands on the tree trunk. He closed his eyes and sighed. I saw his good arm tense, and a second later the log burst. Iron fingers dug deep into the wood, turning it into splinters.

  The girl assistant clapped her hands. “You are very good at it, sir. Let’s try the stone blocks!”

  The squire looked at his new hand in amazement. A terrible power was concealed within.

  “Master Kesarn makes several models of artificial limbs for warriors,” the girl chattered non-stop. “The model you have chosen combines extraordinary finger dexterity and incredible gripping power. Please put your hands on the stone block and repeat what you did before.”

  Korn’s hands fell on the large stone block. He closed his eyes once again. The healthy hand trembled, the fingernails scratched the cold stone, but at the same moment the steel fingers dug deep into the rock as if into a soft chunk of cheese. The block cracked and crumbled into pieces.

  “I know that men love to bash each other with their fists,” the girl said. “The prosthesis absorbs the shock from the impact pretty well. Now you will see for yourself.”

  The girl took us to another stone slab and smiled encouragingly. “Try to strike it, but this time only with the prosthesis.”

  Korn winked at me and hit with all his might. A little piece broke away from the stone.

  The assistant girl giggled. “Do not assume that you have become a fairy-tale strongman!” She touched the squire’s shoulder. “Did you feel anything? I thought not. The prosthesis absorbed the impact completely, protecting your hand from injury.”

  “It does not hurt at all,” Korn confirmed. He lifted his new hand up and wiggled his fingers. “It seems that I’m getting to grips with it.”

  “The connection to the brain will improve in a few days.” Master Kesarn was watching us from the porch. “Soon you will be able to perform more complex and more precise actions.”

  By the time we returned home, the streetlights were lit. I managed to shoot a few ducks, and Korn, for the most part, was messing around, experimenting with his new hand.

  “Look!” He thrust the prosthesis under my nose. “Look what happens if I clench my fist like that!” Triangular spikes sprang out from the knuckles. “I just need to make a fist and my hand turns into a club.”

  Indeed, the form of the prosthesis now resembled a short stick with a round ball covered with spikes.

  “Master Kesarn did not tell you that?” I was surprised.

  “No, he just said that he had prepared a few more surprises for me.”

  Korn looked like a little boy who had just received a long-awaited gift. Watching him, I smiled happily.

  Amell opened the gate in front of us. He was in full combat gear – spiky helmet, chain mail, long spear and a round shield.

  “Welcome home, Master.” The squire bowed. “Well, Korn, you may enter too.”

  Korn glared menacingly and showed him the iron fist. The guard’s eyes widened in surprise. “Damn! You are badass, Korn! You finally managed to squeeze some money out of the master!”


  Korn choked with indignation. “Tomorrow morning, you can start cleaning the stables, Amell!”

  Santo Van appeared later in the morning, only this time he was accompanied by a dozen guards. He was wearing his usual ceremonial uniform with unicorn insignia sewn on the back.

  “Have you forgotten to bring the executioner along?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry.” The captain smiled sweetly. “We will find you one in the palace. The best one in the whole city.”

  “That’s enough,” my mother interrupted him. “Come on, tell us what brings you here.”

  “Nothing special,” Van shrugged. “Master Marcus will be a witness in the royal court. He will answer a few questions. That’s all. If everything is resolved in the best possible way, he will be back before nightfall.”

  “What else?” I was disturbed by the ambiguity of the captain’s answers, but as far as I knew, it was his usual manner of conversation.

  “You may be detained until the end of the investigation.” Van waved his hand. “But it is sheer nonsense, believe me.”

  “They can detain my son?” Mother frowned. “And you call this nonsense?!”

  “After all he has suffered”—the captain winked at me— “there’s nothing to be afraid of!”

  No matter what the captain said, I didn’t want to go back to prison.

  “Care to go to the pit instead of me?” I asked with a sneer.

  “Hmm, you’d be surprised.” Santo Van raised his eyebrows. “But I’ve been to worse places… In our pit you have rats and an abundance of water. Fine company and entertainment to boot. The places I had the luck to visit were far more inhospitable.”

  “Do you think the rats are good company?” Mother frowned.

  “Much better than snakes and scorpions,” the captain said, smiling disarmingly. “Well, should we go? My boys here are baking in the sun.”

  The message was clear: the captain’s patience wasn’t limitless.

  ✽✽✽

  I was taken straight to the royal palace instead of the city court. The carriage stopped near the visitors’ gate. Van’s guards quickly cleared the way, unceremoniously pushing other visitors aside. At the building entrance there were guards. Dressed in the Unicorn Company’s reds, they were armed with well-used halberds adorned with funny-looking silk tassels.