The tiny lake spread out before him and he spun around to meet his opponent’s curious gaze. Without a doubt it wondered why the wizard would move away from the forest area, where the whip was at a greater disadvantage. If it knew the truth it would probably keel over, roaring with laughter. Instead it hesitated, expecting a trap.
“I don’t have all day, come at me!” Marcus shouted.
‘Move away from the trees, please move away from the damn trees!’ he thought.
The ground audience moved closer, while those seated by the windows picked up their dainty binoculars. Sighs were heard from all over the castle as several people reached the painful conclusion that the rich fruit trees now might obscure their view for the rest of the battle. But even though this was not the first time it happened, His Majesty would surely hear nothing about cutting down the trees, since they supplied him with his favorite apples and plums every autumn.
And thus, the wizard’s silent prayer.
‘Move away from the damn trees!’
The king had expressed a great sorrow the last time a battle in the garden took place, after Marcus accidentally turned a few blooming tree crowns into charcoal with a badly cast spell. His Majesty would rather not see that happening again, and the royal wizard needed only comply – though it was becoming increasingly irritating to do so.
“What are you waiting for?” he called as the beast still hesitated, “I’m certain Mere will complain about your lack of speed.”
This did not have the desired effect. His opponent’s eyes only thinned further in suspicion.
“Mistress is patient,” it said.
When it spoke, it sounded more like a boot sinking into thick mud than an actual voice. The yellowed tusks also made it a bit difficult to hear what the thing was saying, since they got in the way for its lips.
It motioned over its shoulder with the coiled whip, a small grin appearing on its wrinkled, snout-like face.
“Unlike humans,” it added.
Ironically enough, somebody acted just as that comment was spoken.
“What are you waiting for, Sir?!” yet another guard called.
Just like on cue, even if the man never would know how stupid he appeared right then.
Marcus rolled his eyes, but said nothing.
‘I have to give the damn witch that much credit, though,’ he thought to himself, however.
He would never admit it aloud, of course, not while anybody could hear him – even if it indeed was true. A lot could be said about sea witch Mere, but certainly not that she was impatient.
“We have our downsides,” Marcus said, smirking a little, “but I daresay that overall we have a far superior sense of esthetics when it comes to choosing henchmen.”
But not even a thinly veiled insult to his looks would sway the beast’s sense of caution.
“Wizard could discuss that with mistress,” it said.
To underline that, it raised its free hand and beckoned to the wizard by waving at itself with its pointing finger. Marcus shook his head, and the beast shrugged. It froze upon his next words, however.
“No, thank you,” the wizard said, changing the grip of his staff in prepare for a possible attack, “the only thing I wish to tell Mere is ‘burn in Hell, witch’, prior to lighting a bonfire beneath her.”
If anybody doubted the power of the beast before that moment, the hoarse roar which shook the garden should set them straight. Discarding all thoughts of possible tricks, the beast charged. As he dashed aside for dear life, Marcus only had time for one offhand thought.
‘Ah, one of the passionate ones.’
“Bird! Marcus!”
The cry of a woman’s voice reached his ears one second before his brain registered the sight of the brown blur, and he skidded to a desperate halt and stumbled aside to avoid the new threat.
He did not see where the bird disappeared to after that, because due to something catching his right ankle he landed face first on the ground with a loud thud. The staff fell out of his grip and landed in the grass beside him.
The guards roared almost louder than the beast, but despite that they remained at a safe distance. Further away, the nobles sitting by the windows shouted questions about what was going on.
‘Well, wasn’t that graceful, Sir wizard?’ Marcus thought and quickly rolled over.
Already the whip’s poison had begun to eat through the cloth of his pants, and he winced at the growing sting. His hands shot towards the coils entrapping his ankle, but before he had reached halfway the beast intervened. It violently tore the whip backwards, and Marcus was flung back onto the ground with a cry of pain. His head hit the ground hard, and he nearly lost consciousness for a moment.
Before Marcus could regain his senses a rough hand grabbed his collar and despite his groaned protest he got ripped back to his feet.
“Nobody threatens mistress!” the beast snarled, holding the wizard mere inches away from its face.
A suicidal part of Marcus’ brain wanted to inform his adversary that its breath needed some serious cleaning up, but the more sensible bits voted for focusing on winning instead. Out of the beast’s sight, the wizard’s fingers began to twitch.
“That’s… not quite fair,” he croaked.
He narrowed his eyes and not until it noticed the grin on the wizard’s lips did the beast’s logical senses wake up well enough to realize the mistake. It pulled its arm back to fling him aside, but he was quicker.
“Farey!” Marcus shouted, and flames exploded from his palms.
The beast roared in pain and dropped the wizard as the thick hair on its chest caught fire. Marcus fell back, blowing on his hands even as he moved. The blazes still floating around his fingers obediently went out and he grabbed the staff again. Pain laced his ankle with cold needles as he tried to straighten up before the beast managed to extinguish the fire on its body, and Marcus looked down only to remember the whip.
Snarling through his teeth he stumbled forwards, raising the staff in both hands.
In a way, the beast might have been grateful that it was saved the horrible fate of burning to death. On the other hand the memory of how it ended up in the pond probably would haunt it much longer than the gratefulness. The memory and the cracked ribs. Truly, it was not the best day its chest had ever lived through.
The guards cheered like idiots, but neither Marcus nor the beast heard them.
Water splashed far up on the blooming tree on the other side of the pond and the wall behind it, and the gold fishes inhabiting the pond fled in all directions. Spluttering and clutching at its black burnt chest, the beast got up on its knees. It seemed more in its natural habitat when dripping wet, even if the surface of the small lake only could lap at its stomach at most.
Marcus raised his better foot to stomp on the whip, which violently twisted under the sole of his sandal but refused to let go of him. The pain only increased and he staggered, groaning.
Looking up he saw the beast glare at him with one eye, the other one tightly closed in pain. Pink water dripped from its fat lips past the tusks, but despite the apparent agony it remained still, silent.
It would actually have surprised the wizard more if the creature had been complaining. He planted the staff on the ground and leant on it, taking the weight off his stinging leg.
“Do you mind?” he asked and waved one hand at the whip.
The beast narrowed its eyes in frustration, but did not say anything. Instead it glanced at a point above Marcus’ head, to the left. The wizard turned halfway, vary of his leg.
With a swooshing sound a brown and pink blur passed above his head, swept out over the pond and finally landed on the beast’s shoulder. The bigger creature winced as its frozen position shifted slightly, but it controlled itself.
Marcus turned his focus and glare towards the bird.
You would call it a bird, theoretically. Most people did, but only because it had the shape of a bird. Other than that, it lacked all familiarity with that entire family of creatures. No feathers, only scales covered the skeletal little body, and the wings were more a bat’s than anything else. Now that the creepy thing sat securely, at least it kept the wings folded instead of showing off the sickening pink of their insides.
More scientifically, these things were known as “lizard birds” or “bat birds”. Not that many cared, since few humans even wanted to be within a mile’s radius of them. The saying that they brought misfortune was not quite the superstitious folklore you might expect.
The bird regarded Marcus with dull curiosity, its cold eyes glistening in the sunlight. Silence ruled for the few moments when everyone only waited for a reaction. The wizard gritted his teeth while the whip continued to have great fun at his expense.
Finally, the bird cawed. It sounded suspiciously much like a chuckle.
“Mistress says congratulations,” it said, its screechy voice clawing at Marcus’ eardrums.
“Charmed,” he said.
Obviously not too fond of having to move, the beast moved one hand away from his chest and held it out. The whip slipped off Marcus’ leg and crawled into the pond, where it continued to swim all the way to its master. Grunting in pain, the beast reached down and curled its finger around the weapon.
“Mistress will prepare something special for next time,” the bird said, “be well, wizard.”
“<i>Charmed</i>.”
Despite its agony, the beast snickered at Marcus’ frosty tone. The bird cawed again, and spread its wings. Still laughing, it flared up with a blinding light which forced everyone to look away.
Water splashed, and both the inhuman creatures and the whip were gone without a trace.
Marcus heavily leant on his staff with a deep sigh, while victorious shouts erupted behind him.
“Charmed…” he murmured.
A hand touched his shoulder, and he raised his head. Immediately a small smile managed to make its way onto his lips.
“Should you not be spending such a dark time watching from a window, Your Highness?” he said.
Princess Alexandra’s worried look twitched into a scowl at the turn of a hand. She threw a glance at the approaching guards to make sure that they did not hear her and bent just a little closer to the wizard’s ear.
“Don’t you give me that!” she hissed.
“Oh no,” Marcus said in a much louder voice, seeing the guards in the corner of his eyes, “I must thank you for warning me about the bird, Your Highness.”
The princess still glared at him, but she softened again when he gave her an apologetic look.
“You should have used magic earlier,” she said, still speaking in a low voice, “it was too dangerous!”
“It just burns a little,” he said, “let me just catch my breath and I’ll heal myself.”
“That’s not all that could have-”
“Make way!”
Marcus winced at the new shout, and staggered around to face the approaching man. The guards almost fell over each other to get out of the way, saluting the one who marched past them without looking anywhere but ahead.
“Now I’m in trouble…” Marcus hissed at Alexandra from the corner of his mouth.
She shook her head. Despite this she could not help but smile in amusement as Marcus’ grimace turned into an utterly fake grin of delight.
“Ah, Lord South,” he said, “I’m most grateful that you too worry about me.”
The head general of Lacorth’s army stopped, crossed his arms, and scowled death at the wizard’s feet.
“<i>Sandals</i>?” he said.
Marcus winced.
“I was taking a stroll in the garden when the damn thing attacked,” he tried to defend himself, “it’s too hot to wear boots.”
“Not using magic?” South said.
“That was because of the king’s orders. That must account for something if you put me to trial, mustn’t it?”
“And you got yourself wounded.”
“As I said, it’s too hot for boots.”
Lord South drew in a deep breath and released it slowly in a sigh. For a moment it seemed like he would press the matter further, but finally decided that it would not be worth the trouble.
“At least you don’t need a stretcher this time,” he said.
Marcus dryly chuckled and shook his head. As South moved closer, the wizard accepted the support offered and hung his arm over the general’s broad shoulders. Princess Alexandra walked behind the two men as they started the staggering trek back to the castle, while the cheers of the audience rained over Marcus’ head.
(Experimental start of Chapter 2:
Sea witch Mere, a mysterious entity said to live in the Eastern Sea, the wide ocean to the west of Lacorth. Almost nothing is known about her, and no human has reported seeing her for almost twenty years.
The only thing the people of Lacorth know about her is that she hates the royal wizards, for ever since the ascension of Lord Gareth there have been attacks by her underlings. These strange beasts appear only one at the time, and challenges the wizard. So far, none have been able to defeat him, and the private war has spanned three generations.
Not even Sir Marcus knows anything about her, and if even his grandfather Gareth knew, he never told anybody. The first royal wizard of Lacorth brought the truth about Mere’s hatred for him into his grave, never telling neither his son nor his grandson what he did to earn such unforgiving anger.
Speculations run rampant, of course. But after all this time, even the rumors have lost their edge and begun to take the shape of fairy tales instead. People still wonder and will spread the tales, laughing at the lunacy of some of them and nod thoughtfully at the sense in others.
Who could possibly wonder more than the royal wizard, caught behind bars in his own home because of the witch? His situation is absurd, all because this faceless witch never can forgive him for being born in Lord Gareth’s bloodline.)
(“First of all, I think Mere and Gareth had some SERIOUS sex…”
-My coursemate Jessie when commenting this)
