The Warlock of Verdial Forest
It was still early in the morning, but the sun was shining, the morning seemed glorious, and Boreen felt excited. He was fifteen, and he was on his first great task. He was accompanying his father, who was Baron of Verdial (small but lovely province, everybody said so), his brother and a group of father’s men on a very important task: getting rid of a warlock who plagued this beautiful land.
Baron of Verdial was not a superstitious man. He didn’t believe in evil (or any other) warlocks, not the real ones, not in his land and certainly not so close to the Holy Church’s ground. So when he received reports on peasant children missing, strange lights at night, howling of wolves, cattle dying and so on, he dismissed it to mundane causes. After all, children did get lost sometimes, passengers, scared at night, would call anything strange, unusual light, there were wolves in the area and yes, they did howl, and cattle occasionally died from undetermined causes. Nothing to get worried about, and nothing to accuse a hermit who happened to inhabit a long — ago abandoned cottage in the middle of the Verdial Forest for. That’s what the man looked like to the baron, anyway. Baron had met him twice while he was hunting (the baron, the man certainly did not have a permission to hunt in baron’s forest), and although he had never actually seen the hermit’s face, since it was always hooded, the man seemed polite enough. He had asked the baron if it was all right to stay in the cottage, he just wanted to be left alone and promised not to cause any trouble. Baron gave him the permission — that was almost six months ago — and forgot about him. When the peasants’ complaints arrived, he ignored them, since there were no more troubles than usual for that time of the year.
But then he received much more alarming news, and from The Church itself. They suspected the quiet man was no less than Raven himself! Famous warlock, more than four hundred years old, usually known as Raven, or Wolf, or dozen other names, who brought terror and mischief wherever he came. In his lovely land!
Baron was not a superstitious man, but he was not a hesitant man either. He gathered his men, permitted his younger son to join them, they all had their confessions, took Communion, and rode to catch the warlock. Dead or alive, The Church had said, but preferably dead. And decapitated. And burnt, till only ashes remained. Just in case.
Boreen looked around himself, all of his senses alert. The sun was shining through the trees, the forest wasn’t dense. The armors were sparkling. They were all trying to be as quiet as possible. The horses were alert too, they could sense their riders’ nervousness. Boreen could clearly see his companions’ fear. They were brave men, all of them, but it was not just a renegade they were after.
What a deed it would be, Boreen thought to himself. The princess might look kinder at him after that. Boreen knew too well he could never marry the Imperial Princess, his rank was far too low, but he might become her hero. Her champion. Her whatever. He thought of her black, curly hair, her sky-blue eyes, her milk-white skin. And her lips the color of rose. Yea, what a deed it would be!
“Pay attention,” his brother hissed, and Boreen roused. He felt ashamed. This was not time for daydreaming. He realized they were at the edge of the clearing. He could see the cottage, small, in bad shape, in the middle of the clearing. Three hundred yards of open space.
“This is it,” his father said. ”He’s probably asleep, and we won’t wait for him to wake up and prepare something nasty for us. The Church suggested we simply burn him alive, but I will not go against my honor. We ride there quickly, surround the cottage, and call upon him to surrender. If he attempts to resist, we kill him. If he doesn’t answer in thirty seconds, we rush in. He won’t know what hit him. Any questions?”
“What if there are traps?” Boreen asked, surprising everybody including himself. A boy was supposed to listen and learn, not to ask questions.
“What traps?” his father asked. Boreen looked ashamed, since everybody was staring at him.
“Magickal,” he said quietly.
“You should have listened to Father Ignatius better,” the baron said impatiently. ”This creature couldn’t have known we were coming, since we didn’t know it ourselves until the last night. And magick in this area takes great amounts of energy and time to prepare. Now be quiet and follow the orders!”
So they went on, Boreen feeling miserably. For he had been listening to Father Ignatius carefully, especially when it came to magick, and he remembered there was some sort of a magickal trap that was easy to set and didn’t take much energy to maintain over long periods of time. Actually, there were several such traps. And if I was a warlock, Boreen thought, I would set it as soon as I arrived. Just in case.
Boreen’s horse stumbled on something. Boreen bent down and looked closer. It was something white…a bone! Boreen almost cried to others, they were all ahead of him, but…How? It wasn’t possible! The bones don’t move, the skeletons don’t move!
Of course it’s possible, you fool, he thought to himself while he was unsheathing his sword and striking back at attacking skeleton. It’s not just a bandit we’re after, everything is possible here. The boy shouted a warning to his companions and cut off the skeleton’s arm. The weird thing didn’t look that dangerous, it didn’t have any weapons, and Boreen quickly dismembered it. But in few seconds the skeleton was whole again. Boreen’s horse reared in terror, and the boy fell on the ground. Boreen cursed. His left shoulder was dislocated, and his horse had fled in terror. Boreen was desperately trying to remember Father Ignatius’ lessons while he was dismembering the damn skeleton for the second time. And as the skeleton rose again, Boreen remembered. Lord’s Prayer, Father Ignatius had said. The strongest there is. It works, Lord forgive me, as the strongest counter-spell. So Boreen prayed while he was dismembering the skeleton for the third time, and the skeleton crumbled into dust.
Boreen looked to see how his companions were faring, and cried in terror. The skeleton was a child’s toy compared to…Well, all the things his father’s men were fighting. A giant wolf with huge teeth, black claws and glimmering red eyes. A rat of similar size, even bigger teeth and yes, red eyes. A creature that looked like a mixture of a lizard, owl and something else, he wasn’t sure what and didn’t care to determine. It had red eyes, too. Giant plants with teeth and no eyes, but very hungry and successful in catching human prey. Two zombies. Numberless insectoid things. A woman with tentacles instead of the head. Warriors with mortal wounds, but very agile. Half of his father’s man were already dead, together with his brother. I never wanted to be a baron, the boy thought and almost collapsed.
He hit himself in the face. Think! Think, you fool, before it’s too late! This can’t be real! He can’t maintain all this, he can’t be that powerful! Not even a demon could do this, not if Father Ignatius was right.
Then he noticed a strange quality all the creatures had, something like, like he was almost able to see through them. As if they weren’t really there. As if…Yes! That was it, that’s what they were, mere illusions! But illusions can’t harm anyone, unless…And then he understood the cleverness and the simplicity of the trap. It took out the man’s worst fear and gave it a shape, and then the illusion fed on the man’s fear, until it was strong enough. Real enough. They were probably cutting through air at first, Boreen thought. But the illusion stayed, and they got more frightened…He suddenly realized how lucky he was. He was probably standing at the edge of the area affected by the spell, so that simple realization of the spell’s nature made him immune to the effect. All because his horse stumbled. He decided to make it his favorite.
But what was he to do now? Yelling an explanation wouldn’t get through to his companions now. And he wasn’t sure if he could dispel all of this with Lord’s Prayer. The only remaining solution was to kill the warlock. He needed to be alive for this spell to remain active…As long as the creatures were still translucent. After that, they would become threat for him too, and everybody else in the area.
Boreen looked at the cottage. Much to his surprise, the door was open and the warlock was standing there, observing the massacre. Boreen gasped. He was expecting an old, ugly man (after all, he was said to be more than four hundred years old), but the man at the door didn’t look more than twenty five. His upper body was naked and muscular, he was barefoot, his hair was color of sand. He wasn’t just handsome, he was beautiful, beautiful like a pagan god. He was radiating beauty and power. He looked as if he had just awakened and looked out to see what all the noise was about.
Boreen shook his head. No time for this. Quickly, silently, he circled around, hoping to come behind warlock’s back. Not an honorable thing to do, but everything was permitted against warlocks. He mumbled Lord’s Prayer under his breath and concentrated on his task, hoping he wouldn’t attract too many of his own fears. He crept closer and closer. The Lord’s Prayer seemed to work — nothing attacked him. There were less and less screams, for most of the men were dead by now. He didn’t dare to look out and see how his father was doing. The warlock didn’t seem to notice him — the grass was high, and that evil creature was too much enjoying the massacre, and wasn’t paying attention. So he crept closer and closer, unnoticed, and finally got behind the cottage. And that was the easier part, he thought to himself.
He couldn’t believe he was so lucky. The warlock had moved, and was standing at the corner now, his back turned to the boy. There was a big tattoo on the warlocks back, picture of a demon with horns and hooves and leathery wings. Boreen swallowed hard. Either it was just a tattoo, nothing more, or the warlock was actually insane enough to carry a real demon with him. Just a tattoo, the boy prayed. Please, Lord, just a tattoo.
Boreen tiptoed behind the warlock, his sword raised, his heart jumping in his throat…
…And the warlock swiftly turned and his dagger was in the boy’s chest, as if he didn’t wear any armor at all. Boreen felt his sword falling out of his hand as the warlock grabbed him and lowered him to the ground, almost gently.
“You little fool,” the warlock said. ”You should have fled from the edge. I would have let you go.”
Strange, Boreen thought as everything became dim except for the warlock’s bright blue eyes. There is no hatred in his eyes, or rage. Just…sadness.
And then he was gone.
The screams have ceased. The warlock stood up, throwing one last glance at the boy’s body. Pity, he thought. The boy had the gift. He would have made a fine magician. Oh, well. He took his dagger out of the boy’s chest and wiped it on the grass.
All the baron’s party was dead, baron and his sons included. Which meant he had time until tonight, to prepare and to leave Verdial. Too bad; he grew fond of this land. But The Church will send somebody smarter next time, and he had no intention to be here when they arrive.
The creatures were gone, too, with nothing left to feed them. The trap had served him well again. And not just him, he thought.
He raised his head and howled. After a while, a howl answered him. He howled again, and a wolf appeared at the edge of the clearing. That one was certainly nobody’s nightmare, fat and with slow, lazy movements. The wolf came closer and yawned.
“I agree,” the warlock said and yawned. ”They didn’t let me sleep either.”
He came closer, careful not to step on some dropped blade, and scratched the wolf behind the ear. The wolf rubbed its head on his hand and licked his palm.
“Call the others while it’s still warm,” the warlock said. As he was going back to the house, the wolf was howling, calling to its pack. Warlock smiled as more wolves came to the clearing, sniffing for warm meal, all of them fat and lazy.
“I have a feeling you’re going to miss me,” he said. ”I’ll have to remove the trap before I leave, and you’ll have to hunt again.”
The first wolf raised it’s head, blood dripping from it’s jaw. The wolf looked as if grinning; its tail wagged, as if to say Don’t worry about it.
“I’ll miss you too,” the warlock said and went into the cottage. Soon he was asleep again, gathering strength for the journey.
Once upon a time (all right, over 20 years ago), this was my best story, or one of the best. Some people enjoyed it. It brought me some attention, and some friendships, too.
Fond memories.
