CHAPTER 40

ROGUE SORCERERS

Mark and Triska urged their horses onward, the rhythmic pounding of hooves breaking the silence of the snowy landscape. Ahead, a village came into view, marked by thin tendrils of smoke rising lazily from chimneys atop thatched roofs. As they entered, their horses' steps crunching on the snow-covered dirt road, the streets appeared eerily empty. Only one figure stood outside—a bald, elderly man bundled against the cold.

“Hey,” Mark called out. “Is there an inn here, or—”

The old man interrupted him. “You’re a swordsman, aren’t you? Name’s Drahomir. No, there ain’t no inn, but you can stay at my place. Got a spare bed—used to be my son’s before he was killed.”

Mark’s face softened. “I’m sorry to hear that. Thanks for the offer. And yeah, I’m a swordsman. Do you need help with something?”

Drahomir gave a slow nod.

“Just so you know, I don’t work for free,” Mark added. “I’m not running a charity.”

“That’s fair,” Drahomir said. “I’ve saved up plenty of coin over the years. Meant to give it to my son one day, but he’s gone now... like so many others. All because of those damned rogue sorcerers.”

“Rogue sorcerers?” Triska cut in, her eyebrow arching. “What do you mean?”

The old man sighed heavily, his breath visible in the cold air. “It started a few weeks back. People began disappearing in the woods nearby—my son included. At first, we didn’t know who or what was to blame. I even held out hope that he was just missing, not dead. Then a man stumbled back into the village, barely alive. Before he passed, he told us about a group of rogue mages hiding in the forest. They’re the ones behind the killings.”

Mark exchanged a glance with Triska, then looked back at Drahomir. “We can deal with them,” he said firmly. “For seventy gold coins.”

The old man’s eyes widened. “Seventy? That’s my whole fortune.”

“Revenge doesn’t come cheap,” Mark replied.

Drahomir hesitated, his shoulders sagging. Then, with a nod of resignation, he said, “Fine. If it means avenging my son, it’s worth every coin. You’ve got a deal.”

Mark and Triska rode hard until they reached the edge of the forest, its slopes dark and foreboding under the towering canopy of trees. Dismounting, they led their horses by the reins into the snowy underbrush. The sunlight barely pierced through the dense branches overhead, leaving the ground blanketed in shadows and silence. Each step was a careful one, their boots slipping slightly on the icy terrain.

“If we do find those sorcerers,” Triska began, breaking the quiet, “we should at least hear them out. Get their side of the story.”

Mark gave her a sideways glance. “Feeling sorry for them, are you?”

“I just know how it is. Rogue sorcerers are treated like scum. People assume the worst without asking questions.”

Mark shrugged. “Fair point.”

They trudged on through the cold, the forest seeming to grow darker and quieter. Suddenly, two figures emerged from the trees, their presence as sudden as it was menacing. One was a wiry young man with pale skin and a shabby, oversized robe. The other was older, his chiseled features and athletic build giving him an air of confidence.

“This is our forest,” the older one declared. “Prepare to die!”

“We’re not your enemies!” Triska stepped forward, her hands raised. “I’m a witch. I understand what you’re going through.” To prove her point, she summoned a small flame in her hand, then let it fizzle out harmlessly.

The older man narrowed his eyes. “You’re with one of the official orders, aren’t you?”

Triska smirked. “Not even close. I’m rogue—just like you.”

The younger man, Andrzej, spoke up. “Then you get it. From the moment we showed any magical ability, we were hunted, treated like freaks, like criminals. I had to abandon my family to avoid being executed. I’ve spent my whole life running, hiding. Until Kosma found me.” He gestured to the older man.

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Kosma crossed his arms. “Everything he said is true. We’ve had enough of running. This forest is ours now, our sanctuary. Our dominion.”

“And that gives you the right to slaughter villagers who come near?” Mark shot back, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his sword.

Kosma scoffed. “Villagers like those don’t deserve sympathy. Their kind has tormented us, hunted us, executed us in public squares for their twisted sense of justice. They hate us just for existing. They’re the real monsters. We’re just defending ourselves from those bastards.”

Triska exhaled slowly. “He’s not entirely wrong, Mark. You remember how the villagers once paid you to kill me?”

“You did curse a man into a bear,” Mark said flatly.

“They wanted me dead long before that,” Triska retorted. “All because I was ‘weird’ and ‘different.’ They didn’t even know I was a witch back then. People fear what they don’t understand.”

“So what, we just let these two lunatics keep killing anyone who wanders into this forest?”

“Maybe we can convince the villagers to stay away,” Triska suggested.

Mark shook his head. “The village probably relies on this forest to survive. Avoiding it isn’t an option.”

Before Triska could respond, Kosma raised his hand and conjured a jagged shard of ice, hurling it straight at Mark with deadly precision.

“Watch out!” Triska yelled. She raised her hands, summoning an invisible shield just in time. The ice projectile shattered harmlessly against it.

Mark unsheathed his spirit sword. “So much for talking this out.”

“Why are you defending this bastard?” Andrzej snarled at Triska. “You’re really going to side with him against your own kind? We sorcerers should stick together!”

“Stop it, both of you!” Triska yelled, her voice ringing out, but no one listened.

Kosma conjured a blazing firebolt and hurled it at Mark. Mark dodged just in time, the fiery blast slamming into a tree, setting it ablaze and filling the air with thick smoke. Kosma didn’t stop. He launched more bolts, one after another, forcing Mark to weave and zig-zag across the snowy forest floor. A bolt zipped so close to his face that the heat made his cheek sting, even without contact.

Closing the gap between them, Mark swung his glowing green spirit sword. Kosma countered with a burst of invisible energy, but the enchanted blade sliced through it like paper. Kosma narrowly dodged, Mark’s sword grazing his robe.

From behind, Andrzej joined the fray, summoning an ice bolt and launching it straight at Mark. But Triska jumped forward, throwing up a shimmering energy barrier. The ice bolt shattered harmlessly against it.

“Why are you helping him?” Andrzej’s anger flared, his face twisting with rage. “You bitch! Betraying your own kind? I’ll make you regret it!”

With a furious shout, he conjured a flurry of ice shards and hurled them at Triska. She raised her shield again, the shards scattering harmlessly in all directions. Her eyes narrowed, and she retaliated with a bolt of fire aimed at Andrzej. He threw up his own shield, deflecting the flames, then raised his hand skyward and chanted.

A deafening crack split the air as a bolt of lightning struck down from the heavens, aimed at Triska. She managed to conjure a shield, but the lightning tore through it, exploding in front of her and blasting her backward. She tumbled through the snow, winded but alive.

Meanwhile, Mark was relentless in his pursuit of Kosma. The sorcerer turned abruptly, his hand crackling with electricity. A surge of energy shot toward Mark, striking a tree and setting it ablaze. Kosma didn’t let up, sweeping the deadly current toward Mark’s position.

Mark dove, rolled, and jumped to evade the sizzling arc of energy, but a sudden jolt caught him. His chainmail absorbed some of the shock, but pain jolted through his body, making his muscles spasm and his hair stand on end. Desperately, he rolled away from the crackling current, narrowly avoiding a fatal hit.

As Kosma prepared to strike again, Mark seized his chance. He hurled his sword like a javelin. The glowing blade spun through the air before piercing Kosma’s chest with a sickening crunch. The point of the sword burst through his back. Kosma froze, his face contorting in shock before he crumpled to the snowy ground. Blood seeped out, staining the white snow crimson.

Mark yanked his blood-soaked sword from Kosma’s chest, his heart pounding as he sprinted back toward Triska. She was still sprawled on the snowy ground, and he spotted Andrzej raising a blazing orb of fire, ready to hurl it at her.

“Nooo!” Mark roared, leaping with all his might. Just as Andrzej prepared to release the fiery attack, Mark came down with a powerful downward slash. His blade cleaved through Andrzej’s head and torso in one clean, brutal arc, splitting him in two. The sorcerer’s halves crumpled onto the snow, staining it deep red.

Mark dropped to his knees beside Triska, pulling her into his arms. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Triska nodded. “Too bad we couldn’t reason with them. They didn’t deserve this.”

“They didn’t leave me much choice. It was them or us.”

“They attacked because the world failed them,” she murmured. “I could’ve been like them, Mark. If things had gone just a little differently, I’d be lying dead in a forest like this one. You spared me once. They weren’t as lucky.”

Mark helped her to her feet, brushing the snow from her cloak. “But you’re not like them. Come on, let’s move. It’s freezing out here, and I’m not in the mood for a lecture on fate.”

They made their way back to the village, where Drahomir greeted them with a wide smile. “Did you kill them?” he asked eagerly.

Mark nodded.

Drahomir tossed him a pouch of coins. “Thank you, stranger. You’ve done the work of the High God. Come to my home. You’ll stay the night.”

That evening, Drahomir and his wife served them steaming bowls of hearty vegetable soup, warming their chilled bodies. Later, they slept soundly in the small room offered to them. At dawn, Mark and Triska saddled their horses and rode away without looking back. For that’s the way of the wandering swordsman – to keep moving, never staying in one place for too long.