[Formerly Marisa and Roger, this story features the same characters but with a different plot line and such. Anyway. While it will be filled with things nice and nasty (romance, gore, adventure, horror, sick jokes – wait, I'm listing all the nice things…) this will be a little bit of a parody, as you can conclude from the name. And yes, I will have a sequel or two titled Something-ael and Something-sen. No stealing my ideas! Keep yer own mangy titles!
Anyway, almost all characters are © me, except for a choice few, which will be revealed later on. Why? Hush, I can't tell! Stoppit!
The Old Kingdom, Ancelstierre and shtuff is © Garth Nix, of course. Good ole Garth Nix. I'd give him a hug if I could.
Also, several characters, who represent my friends, will make several cameo appearances, and they are © themselves.
And don't complain about the amount of M-names. M is a nice letter. I do it on purpose.
And if something seems wrong or incorrect in the story – Marisa's ability to be a Charter Mage, for one – all will be explained.
So please, ignore any probable errors, and enjoy this piece of oddness.]
A Mordicant is a very fearful creature. Only a very powerful necromancer could banish one, and only an even more powerful necromancer could craft one.
Mordicants were made from clay and blood, with a Dead spirit inserted within to give it a mind. While no two Mordicants were the same, almost all shared the same characteristics – three talon hands or paws, greyish green in colour, the ability to run on all fours, teeth and claws that dripped with magical fire.
Marisa's Mordicant was almost canine in shape, though it was rather crude and it easily showed that her views on anatomy were a bit warped. That was to be expected, however. She liked things that were, in a word, a bit weird.
The young necromancer was pouring over a book on charter magic. Her good friend Roger was curled up in her sleeping bag, purring contentedly. She quite liked Roger. It wasn't his fault he was in the shape of a cat.
Well, maybe it was. But oh well…
"Mordi!" Marisa yelped in frustration, "Please, Mordi, calm down. I can't concentrate."
The Mordicant stopped romping about camp and sank to the ground, looking quite unhappy and pathetic for a flame-shrouded being of blood and clay. It whined a little.
Marisa immediately softened, "Aw, Mordi, c'mere, Mordi!" she slapped her thigh and readied herself for the tackle. As expected Mordi bowled right into her, happily licking her face. The Free Magic fire on his teeth tickled her cheek.
"Go hunting, Mordi!" she said brightly, in the tone of a girl to her puppy, "Go hunting, Mordi! Gawan! Bring me something nice! Gawan, Mordi!"
Mordi barked happily and bounded away, howling an eerie cry that would remind most people of a dying… something. Well, it wasn't nice.
"Can't you shut your damn Mordicant up?" Roger hissed sleepily from the tangle of cloth that he had turned into his bed.
Marisa threw the book, which was now a bit muddy, at the cat. "Silence, you."
*
Mordi romped happily in the fields. Small creatures skittered away, quite rightfully fearful of the monster. Because, as mentioned in the first sentence of the story, a Mordicant is a fearful thing.
It snuffled around, seeking for a trace of life that was bigger than bird or mouse. It hadn't taken a life in quite some time, and it was hungry. And since it traveled with Marisa, it was constantly reminded of how tempting Life was. Not that it would ever go against her – the thought was, to it, quite horrifying. It loved Marisa, in its strange, scary way. That in itself was amazing, because Dead creatures are thought quite beyond that emotion.
It sensed something, on the wind. It licked its jowls and let the tongue hang down between his teeth. Its tail began a happy thump against the earth. Life was there. It wasn't a town, or village, which was good – attacking places like that attracted the attention of Charter Mages, maybe even the Abhorsen herself. And that would be bad. And worse yet, instead of those who worked the Charter it could even be a rival Free Magic necromancer – one that would try to claim Mordi as his own.
No, it was a group of people, moving at a moderately fast pace. Travelers? Merchants, maybe. Mordi yipped, darted in a quick circle after its own tail, and flounced off after its prey. As it did so, it reminded itself to keep an eye out for something interesting. After all, Marisa had asked it to bring something back to her.
*
Ollison surveyed the road. It was a bit rough, but he'd seen rougher. It would take a bit more work than usual, but he would be able to get the wagons through until the next town.
"Boys!" he called, "Girls," he added, to the three female guards, "Get the two wagons up front, quickly now! Help the teams. C'mon, quick!"
Guards, who were also the manpower for the wagons when horsepower wasn't enough, rushed up. They had looks of determination on their faces, except for Merle, who was rather sulky and bitter about life in general.
Merle sighed and took to pushing. He really hated his job. Well, at least most of the time. Merle was a good swordsman, quick as anything, which suited his slight, almost fragile physique. However, when it came to muscles, Merle struggled quite plainly. Even the girl guards had more muscle than he did, which was altogether a bit embarrassing.
After about a half-hour of sweat and strain, the Charter Mage at the front – damn him, Merle thought, he didn't have to push – seemed to freeze. Well, Mister Mage hadn't been moving in the first place, but he stiffened and his chin raised, out of its usual lethargy. He was quite obviously and dramatically sensing something.
"Master Ollison!" he called. The merchant, the one that couldn't afford to have both guards and servants to do separate jobs, but had to combine them, hurried over, leaving the Caravan Master to shout indescribable insults at the guards. Merle tried to listen in on the conversation – at least it made him forget his misery for a little while.
"There's something coming." The Charter Mage shouted above the sound of the wheels, loud enough so that everyone in the area could hear. "We must get ready!"
"What's coming, old man?" Ollison responded – Merle thought that was high of him, he must have been the Mage's junior by a year or so at the most.
The Mage darted a look around, fear on his face, "I smell Death, and… Free Magic…"
And then the Mordicant was upon them.
If no one had been screaming, maybe they would have noticed how happy Mordi seemed, how he romped playfully about the guards before bringing them down, sucking the life out of them. About how he inspected every victim he came upon before feasting.
Mordi went for the Charter Mage first, ripping out the man's throat, happily noting how its Free Magic fire burned the man. Then he was off, pouncing on the closest guard, teeth and claws rending. He barked joyfully. This was fun.
The creature licked its chops, already feeling much better at the Life it had taken. It took a while to lick, because its mouth was inordinately wide. He jumped onto the wagon seat the Charter Mage had sat in, snuffled about the entrance, and disappeared inside, exploring the contents. It found lots of jars of smelly stuff, which it thought Marisa might like. There was a problem, however – he couldn't bring them all back. He could only bring one at a time, and the jars were quite small anyway. Well, maybe it would find something else. He ignored the two pairs of horses harnessed to each wagon; he wouldn't be able to bring them back, and he didn't like eating them anyway.
"Guards! To me!" Ollison cried out, staggering to the wagon Mordi wasn't playing around in. There was a strange, wheezing noise from inside, which sounded like a child suffocating. Mordi had accidentally spilled a jar of spices and had breathed them in.
The guards rushed to their employer, swords drawn. Merle stationed himself nearest to Ollison – he wasn't too keen on being the first to fall. If worst came to worst, he'd throw Ollison in the face of the Dead thing and make a run for it. But no, he was too loyal to the man that was going to pay him, at least at that point in time.
The guards enclosed Ollison and his apprentices in two circles, one inner and one outer. They stood there, for several tense moments. Mordi was still shuffling about in the other wagon, and Ollison and his buddies used that time to jump into the other one. With carefully stifled curses of annoyance the guards immediately spread out into a circle that would encompass the vehicle (I say vehicle because 'wagon' is clearly being spelt out far too many times than necessary.). Ollison now had a barrier of wood to add to his protection, yes, but Merle and many others sourly noted that if that Dead creature got past just one of them, Ollison was done for.
Well, they were already done for anyway, so it didn't really matter.
After the few seconds of silence that followed, right when the guards started to get really nervy, Mordi exploded from the back of the wagon, fire everywhere, tongue hanging from its mouth, barking sharply (Him, not the tongue!). It tore into another guard, teeth gnashing, sucking out the life until it was a withered husk in one swift movement. In fact, he did it so quickly it took less time than it was to read the previous sentence.
Merle shut his eyes, then prudently reminded himself it might be better if he could see what was going on, and snapped them back open. Mordi was ripping apart three more guards and then immediately bounded into the wagon, where it began rending Ollison and his students apart.
It was sated, but there was still so much more life around him – however, Marisa had always glared when he overate, and she knew it when Mordi did. So the Mordicant leaped lightly out of the wagon and began to round the soldiers up, mostly for the fun of watching them scatter. It had a little idea.
"What I need," Marisa continually hissed, when Roger had given her lip, "Is someone to talk to that isn't encased within a sack of furry skin!"
Whoah. Idea. Getting bigger.
Pop.
Bing.
Mordi had a train of thought traveling at high speed.
Not that he knew what a train was, that is. It was merely a figure of speech – and he didn't know what that was either. But lay off. He's a Mordicant, after all.
Mordi inspected every human it saw and snorted at almost every one. So he'd take one back for Marisa; no problem. But Mordi was lazy; it was searching for the lightest body it could.
Then it saw Merle.
Bingo.
The Mordicant let out a wailing howl, and then began to chase every soldier willy nilly. If he did this right, he'd be able to keep them off for a day or more, which was enough time for him to drag the sack of skin and bones to his mistress and then lead her back to the jars so that they could have fun pillaging. Pillaging was an excellent form of entertainment. Besides, if any humans were stupid enough to come back, he'd just eat them. That was the solution for everything in Mordi's mind.
It tamped down its back paws and lowered it large ears, which it also did to its body as it sank to the ground. His pointed muzzle broke into a very jagged, flame-enshrouded grin. The boy was slender, quite fragile, really. He wore chain mail, but that was no problem. This would be easy.
The moment it pounced, Merle knew he was done for.
Actually, he fainted. So he only knew he was done for when he woke up and discovered he was being carried slung rather uncomfortably on the back of a demon. He promptly passed out yet again right after registering this fact.