3 The Corruption of Magnus

The Corruption of Magnus

Afonso ordered everyone to leave the throne room, except the guards, before questioning the archbishop about the horror they had just witnessed. Magnus calmly explained that, although he was careful to ensure an accurate translation of the scrolls' spells, he was still working on their exact repetition. If the guards had not exterminated the beast, it would probably have died a few minutes later, as had happened with the other test animals with which the archbishop had performed the ritual on the grounds of the Church. However, he was confident that, with more time and a withered portion of the kingdom's resources, he could perfect the process and thus transform worldly creatures into an army of savage warrior beasts who instilled fear in the hearts of the Southerners and the Northern Demons. Over time, he continued, these beasts could be tamed and trained to kill not only the Southerners, but any enemies of Albaran that could still present themselves. Afonso, still furious, ordered the archbishop to be escorted to his quarters and summoned his senior advisers to seek guidance. And while none of them denied the odious nature of the event that everyone witnessed, the vast majority agreed that Magnus's solution should not be readily rejected. Everyone shared Afonso's concerns about the chance of further hostilities from the Southerners, especially in light of the health he would need from Belial. And even though Afonso had done much to strengthen the kingdom against attacks, Albania still carried wounds from its longstanding conflict with the Southerners and was barely able to keep another war open as soon, both in blood and in treasure. The council's recommendation to Afonso was almost unanimous: as sworn defenders of the kingdom, it was their duty to be strong, both in stomach and on purpose. They could not allow their disgust, however intense, the methods proposed by Magnus unconventionally, a counselor euphemistically called them to halt what could be a powerful opportunity to secure future peace for Albania and the whole of Albaran. So overwhelming was the promise that Magnus had brought to them that, in the whole conversation, no man present dared to utter the word that haunted everyone in their hearts.

Witchcraft, And so Afonso reluctantly agreed. Magnus and his church entourage were stationed in Libra and were given everything they needed to perfect their arcane arts.

Only God knew how many poor animals suffered and died in the archbishop's twisted experiments during the following months. Afonso had lost count when he could no longer stand the sight of the abominations that Magnus conjured daily. At first, none of them lived for a long time. The malformed things born of every dog, mule, horse and rabbit in which Magnus practiced his art dismantled and died after a few minutes or needed to be impaled by spearmen when they turned against the archbishop or his assistants. In time, when Magnus undertook refinements and corrections in the pronunciation and cadence of the spells written on the ancient scrolls, and in the described hand gestures that accompanied them, the monsters he created began to live longer. For hours, then days, then indefinitely. But one thing has not changed. In all cases, no matter how long they lived, monsters were cruelly aggressive from the moment they were born.

They attacked anything without provocation - even each other. Magnus once watched two hunting dogs, brothers from the same litter, who had never shown any sign of mutual aggression, being transformed by the ritual into a pair of lupine demons, with scales and humpbacks, and began to shatter immediately.

Fascinated, he made a detailed entry in his diary. Magnus also found that, with subtle changes in summons, he was able to create varied forms of beasts with each base animal. He managed to transform a pig into the same almost arachnid he had created in Afonso's throne room or, with a small change in the phrases, to create a kind of horrible jackal, with oily skin and a beak.

All of these experiments were carefully documented by Magnus' apprentices in an increasingly bulky bestiary. Magnus practiced tirelessly every day for several months, creating dozens of variations, until he was convinced that he had exhausted all possible permutations for each base animal. A cat could become just a number of things, he learned, when there was nothing left to be raised from a cat, it started again with geese or badgers or any poor, innocent creature on its list. Over time, he learned to give life to all species of creatures with infallible specificities, from the length of the tail to the way they spit fire and digestive acids.

Flames were his favorites; the day he discovered that specific variation sparked one of the most enthusiastic records in his diary, and the fire-eaters had secured their own section in the bestiary. However, even with all Magnus' achievements, the problem of lack of control resisted. He had recruited the most skilled trainers in the Kingdom - men who subdued the most skittish horses and managed to make a wild wolf eat from the palm of his hand, but none could tame any of Magnus's creatures. It seems more and more that these beasts were beyond any form of dominance, although Magnus himself stubbornly refused to accept this fact.

While he insisted that in the end he would be able to control them, Afonso's impatience grew. Finally, the king, already haunted at night by visions of the things he saw in the courtyard every day, decided that he had seen too much. On one occasion, an armored reptilian monster that had been a lamb jumped on the trainer who was trying to feed him a whole piece of meat and tore the man's arm off at shoulder level.

Afonso then became enraged. I told the archbishop that I did not want to see any more of his "advances" until the priest proved that they could be controlled. Otherwise, what use they would have in battle. They were likely to attack their trainers instead of the enemy they were supposed to attack. Before leaving smoking in the courtyard that day, Magnus warned: if this problem was not solved, and soon, he would be finished once and for all the experiments.

Two months later, Afonso returned, despite his reluctance. He had seen many horrors in the war, but none compared to what he had seen there, in his courtyard, since the archbishop started his experiments.

The ground was scratched and pitted like a battlefield and stained with great streaks of dried blood. The wood of many structures around it was scorched black and white by the fire. And the most noticeable was the nauseating odor of sulfur that hung in the air all the time.

The entire courtyard stank of sulfur.

Afonso pulled a handkerchief from his sleeve that he kept with him for these unfortunate visits, holding it over his mouth and nose while crossing the blood-streaked quadrilateral. Even the strong perfume in which the apothecary had dipped the handkerchief was insufficient to completely disguise the smell. Magnus was waiting for him, dressed as always in the striking ecclesiastical garments that fit his high position, and displayed an air of confidence. Afonso had not seen him for weeks; the archbishop obeyed the king's order, never asking for his presence since the poor trainer was mutilated, and so Alfonso guessed that there must be a good reason for being called. He found himself analyzing his expectations. Did you want Magnus to succeed in mastering those beasts and, by extension, the enemies of Albaran? Or were you hoping for failure, which would finally give you reason to end all that disgusting story and remove Magnus from the Church? I should have done something a long time ago, Afonso told himself again.

"Thank you for your presence, your majesty," said Magnus when the king approached.

"After the failure of his last demonstration, I must assume that he would not call me here without a good reason," replied Afonso.

Magnus ignored the disdain and simply nodded. "Indeed. I think you will be very pleased with our progress since I was here last time."

Afonso sighed, with no desire to hear preambles. "Can you control them or not?"

"I doubt that they will be domesticated as pets, but for the intended purpose ... as weapons of war. Yes, I think I can control them now. It wasn't easy, but that's what I've been working on."

Afonso just looked at Magnus anxiously. If the archbishop was expecting a compliment, some kind of recognition for the hours dedicated to creating such heinous freaks, there would be no "Very well, then!" Said Magnus, and turned to the guards who were nearby. "Stand by, please!" A dozen of Afonso's best and most experienced spearmen were ready and ready, weapons drawn.

They were all strong men, but it was clear from their expression that they preferred to patrol the Nortumbias border, freeze in some remote observation tower or clean up the mud of the castle pigsties. They preferred to be anywhere but there. Nobody wanted to take on that task. Those who were assigned to her rarely sleep well. Next to them was a small troop of servants carrying buckets full of water, ready to extinguish the fire that the archbishop's beast could ignite. This lesson was learned with great difficulty, when one of the first "infernals", as Magnus liked to call them, set fire to the old wooden stables in the courtyard with a single breath. The fire would have spread and consumed the kitchens and library in the castle, but there was a rapid reaction from an improvised bucket brigade in a hurry. The stable was not saved; by Afonso's order, the pledged wood had not been removed as a reminder, and now the "erasers" were in place before each enchantment.

Satisfied that everything was ready, Magnus signaled the apprentice across the courtyard who was handling the gate of the pen where the test animals met. The apprentice lifted the gate and, when it opened at once, there was a low growl, and Afonso shivered; already hated that sound.

He had to hear it many times: it was the sound that forebears the screeches and screams of some poor cursed creature that was transformed by Magnus' words. What kind of animal will he select for today's bloody performance? Afonso wondered.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Afonso was perplexed; in general, the animal trapped energy immediately in the yard, happy to be released from confinement, without knowing the cruel fate that awaited it. He looked at Magnus, who looked ashamed for a moment, before impatiently gesturing at the apprentice. First the apprentice just watched, hesitantly; but, in the face of the archbishop's angry gaze, he reluctantly entered the pen to attract its occupant.

He disappeared for an instant, but Afonso could hear him fawning over the beast.

Get out of there, come on. Let's go! The archbishop is waiting!

Don't you dare be ashamed or I'll be gutted! Afonso blinked, perplexed, when another man emerged from the pen. Naked to the waist, with bare feet, thin to the point of showing ribs, pale, he seemed not to eat for days on end. The apprentice was behind him, pushing him into the center of the courtyard. Afonso turned to Magnus.

"What is it?"

  "An advance," replied the archbishop. Afonso looked back at the half-naked man and recognized the signs: emaciation, the lost look, the whip scars behind his back. The leggings were those worn by his foot soldiers. The man was a captured deserter, one of many who daily chickened out on the castle steps. In recent times, desertions had grown, especially in Libra, as men decided it was better to risk escape than to be posted to the courtyard with Magnus and subject themselves to the nightmares that traumatized so many of his colleagues.

"Explain that to me now," demanded Afonso.

"I noticed that the transformation greatly diminished the test animal's cognitive ability," said Magnus. "A stupid animal, even if well-trained, does not retain enough intelligence to recognize basic commands. But a man ... a man survives the process with plenty of intelligence. Enough, I believe, to be controlled with confidence."

Afonso's face took on a pale tone. He looked at Magnus, horrified.

" You can not be serious."

"Our mistake was to use animals from the beginning," said Magnus. "We learned a lot, it was useful, but this practice was never intended for use in lesser forms of life. I'm sure of it now."

Afonso looked at Magnus with hatred.

"I will not allow such a thing."

"Sir, should I remember what is at stake here? The unfaithful Southerners in Nortumbias are growing in strength and waiting for the moment to launch a new attack on us. With Belial dead or dying, that moment will surely come soon. We will need to use all means available to defend this kingdom and our faith, or risk seeing the two destroyed by a race of pagan savages. "

"I was already very uncomfortable with your animal experiments," said Afonso.

"I will not tolerate this ... this witchcraft practiced on men!"

Magnus raised an eyebrow.

"Witchcraft? Your Majesty, this is the most distant thing from witchcraft. The discovery of the scrolls was not an accident. It was a gift from the Divine himself. He favors us with this knowledge ... this power, and I intend us to use it He saw the crimes these Southern heretics perpetrated against His Church. Ruined monasteries, destroyed holy relics, good men in cassocks staked and burned. Their war is a war against God Himself, and He has blessed us with the means to decimate them in His name. "

"The God I believe in would never allow these blasphemies to walk on His land," replied Afonso.

"Whatever the origin of these scrolls is, that shouldn't be your goal."

He was already tired of hearing the refutations of his words. He turned to the nearby spearmen and pointed to the ragged prisoner in the center of the courtyard.

"Send this man back to the stake. And get him a hot meal."

When the spearmen moved to take the prisoner, Magnus put his arms back and began an enchantment. He will be very experienced and more than proficient to say all the words he needed in just a few moments. Afonso, as fast as he realized what Magnus was doing, was not agile enough.

"Stop him!" He shouted at the guards, who ran towards the archbishop. But Afonso could already see the prisoner's body writhing, plagued by a sudden attack of painful convulsions. Magnus ended the spell the moment guards caught him by the arms. He did not resist; his eyes were fixed on the prisoner's, now hunched in agony. The poor man's eyes widened as if they were going to explode, and he opened his mouth wide, letting out a cry of torture.

Afonso grabbed Magnus by the collar.

The deserter was on his knees now, arms folded, clutching his stomach, and staring blindly at the floor, as if trying to spit something stuck in his throat.

"Undo it now," ordered the king.

"I can't," replied Magnus as he watched with fascination.

"You need to follow your course, helpless" Afonso looked back at the prisoner.

All eyes in the courtyard were on the man at that moment. He stood on his side and convulsed, kicking madly at the earth as he and fingering, scraping bloody nails over his chest and neck as if trying to get out of his own feverish skin. And then he did just that. The sternum swelled against his chest, then burst, showing the ends of a dozen bone tips. One of the erasers dropped his bucket of water and ran away; the others moved away in horror when the prisoner's entire torso turned inside out.

He howled in agony, the organs being dumped on the ground when a dark, damp thing emerged in their place.

And what was left of the man began to break and dismount, the skin on his arms, legs, his head peeling off as pulsating and bloody greenish shapes sprouted up.

Afonso faced the thing that a few moments before was a human being.

She stepped back on her new hind legs as tentacles slid and unrolled and felt the ground beneath him. The man no longer had a head; in its place, a tangle of long, sharp tongues covered with saliva protruded from the split stump of the neck. Lambiame crackled around the beast's shoulders, which at that moment were covered by some kind of bone plate. The little that was still recognizable as a man hung limp around the creature's deformed waist, a macabre tale of skinned human skin. The beast made a sound that was not of this world, a terrible, tormented howl.

Afonso felt as if an ice stone was growing in the pit of his stomach.

"Kill him," he shouted. "For the love of God, kill him!"

Several guards moved to surround the abhorrent creature, spears lashing from afar to control it. She roared, released a tentacle that wrapped itself around the nearest spear handle and pulled, bringing the spearman closer to her.

Before he could retreat, he was wrapped around the waist by the compressed tentacle, crushing his ribs.

There was a stifled, gurgling, muffled cry when another fat, wet tentacle curled up in the man's face and took his head off.

Blood spurted from the spearman's neck like a fountain when the beast threw the lifeless body aside. The head was handed over to the tongues, which grabbed it and stuck it around the monster's neck, swallowing it with avidity and a speed that could not be described.

The other spearmen attacked. But it was not like the swine, nor like any of the other creatures that Magnus had conjured before. This one had heavy armor, and the tips of the spears only scraped its thick skin.

The beast spun and speared an innocent soldier with a bony claw that buried itself deep in the chest, coming out from behind. He slid back and fell dead before he hit the ground. A third spearman was grabbed by the ankle and flew across the yard with such force that Afonso heard the man's bones break when he hit the stone wall. Five desperate men still surrounded the beast, which remained unharmed and increasingly enraged.

"Let me go!" Shouted Magnus.

"Before you kill us all!" Afonso was reluctant to leave the man free for a moment, but he knew he had to act quickly and had few options.

He nodded for the guards to release the archbishop. Freed from the soldiers, Magnus raised his wizened wizard's hands and shouted a command that neither Afonso nor the men present could understand, although everyone recognized the same arcane language used in the spells.

The beast stopped instantly.

He had two men cornered and he would certainly have killed them both in seconds, but instead he turned to face Magnus with sudden docility. Magnus spoke in the strange language again, and the beast approached, looking obedient.

As he staggered towards the archbishop, Afonso and the other men nearby stepped back as a precaution, but Magnus reached out to reassure them.

"Okay," he said.

  "It won't hurt anyone else ... unless I order it. It is totally under my control, without risk to us or our troops in battle. But when launched against the Southern hordes ... It will be a very different story." The beast was at least two meters tall, much taller than Magnus, who showed no dread. Afonso tensed when the archbishop reached out to pet the hideous creature with affection that could be shown by a beloved dog.

In reaction, the beast let out an anxious groan.

For any healthy man, the sight of that vile, deformed thing would inspire a combination of fear, disgust. Afonso saw the way Magnus looked at her - with admiration - and soon knew: he went crazy. Magnus was so entranced by his creation that he did not notice the spearmen, now grouped, taking up position behind the beast.

With a nod, Afonso gave them the order they expected.

They moved forward together, burying the blades hard in the creature's back, finding the tender muscle and flesh between the thick bony plates. The beast let out a horrifying cry and went to the ground, limbs giving way. Before he could recover, the spearmen were climbing on his back, making continuous thrusts, burying the spears deep. Magnus protested, but none of them listened. The beast finally fell on its face, tongues twitching for another moment like rattlesnake tails. And finally, she was dead.

More spearmen burst into the courtyard, attracted by all the screaming and commotion. Afonso pointed to Magnus.

"Take this man and arrest him in the tower under surveillance," he ordered. The spearmen surrounded the archbishop, taking him firmly by the arms.

"They didn't need to have killed him," said Magnus, still thinking more about his precious experiment than the four men who lay dead there.

"There was a lot we could have learned from him."

Afonso could barely contain the fury he felt in his heart.

"I learned everything I needed today. I learned that your experiments went too far with my permission. And now I'm going to put an end to that. In all of this!"

"And discard all the progress we've made?" Said Magnus. That was the most successful test subject so far, If Your Majesty just heard me ... "

"Nothing I could offer would justify this atrocity," cried Afonso, red with anger.

"How many others were there? How many men were maimed before this poor guy here?"

"None that Your Majesty had not already scheduled to die," said Magnus. "Everyone came from the list of condemned men"

"I would never condemn any man to such a fate as I will read this foolish endeavor because you assured me that it would allow our victory in war without spilling the blood of Albaran's offspring!"

"Sir, a transformed man who is worth twenty others. In strength, in resilience, in aggression! See what a single fer here and imagine the devastation that hundreds of these beasts could spill over our enemies! Just a hundred, compared to thousands who we may lose in a conventional battle. "

  Afonso's tone cooled, but he continued, no less resolute. "I will not tolerate this curse being imposed on any more man ..."

"The transformation does not have to be permanent," suggested Magnus. "I assure Your Majesty that, with more time, I will be able to find a way to reverse the effect ... restore them to their original shape when they return from battle."

With a heavy sigh, Afonso rubbed his forehead. "I have heard more of your assurances than I can bear. Guards, take the archbishop to the tower. There he will stay until I decide what to do with him."

The spearmen marched with Magnus, leaving Afonso to inspect the carnage in the courtyard before him. He shook his head.

Cursing himself for being so foolish as to believe that it could do any good. Barrica and Hardin, Afonso's two biggest and least kind jailers, dragged Magnus up the stone steps of the spiral staircase. Torchlight flickered on the walls.

Barrica unlocked the heavy oak door of the lonely cell at the top of the tower and Hardin pushed the archbishop inside. He landed on a pile of damp straw, barely having time to straighten up before the door slams again and the key is turned from the lock. He cleaned himself up and fixed his tunic. For a moment, he sat outside waiting. And a thin smile flashed on the priest's lips. Afonso is more blind than I thought, he reflected, delighting himself. After everything you've witnessed, you really believe you can really imprison me.

XXX

Afonso summoned his senior advisers to the war room. At that time, everyone had heard of the massacre in the courtyard; some saw it with their own eyes. Although months before they had voted for the exploitation of Magnus's proposal, everyone there, like Afonso, had become increasingly uneasy with the direction that this undertaking was taking. The events of that day were the last straw.

None of them needed to convince themselves that it was time to end that reckless episode once and for all. Afonso had already ordered that all records be destroyed, including the damn parchments that started it all.

The only question was what to do with the archbishop of the Church. "He is finished as archbishop, and in the Church as well. This is more than certain," declared the king, with widespread approval.

"The senior clerics are not going to contest. Many of them were also uneasy about what Magnus was doing here. So I will apologize and nominate a successor of your choice."

"But what will be his fate other than excommunication?" Asked Crow, one of Afonso's high advisers and a trusted military adviser.

"Will you be charged with a crime? Will there be a trial?"

"If Magnus is guilty of a crime, then I am just as guilty of allowing him for so long," replied Afonso.

"And such a public trial ... bizarre nature just spreading superstition and fear across the kingdom."

There was a long pause before anyone spoke again. This time it was Chris, another war adviser to Afonso. His special responsibility was to administer the army's spy apparatus and equipment, and the king trusted him to suggest unconventional solutions to difficult problems.

"Maybe, then ... an accident?"

Afonso and the others looked at him.

"It is widely known from here to Bull's land that the archbishop was involved in dangerous work, although his nature was not specified," continued Chris.

"Perhaps he died in the faithful service of his Church and his king. Magnus is quite frowned upon. I doubt that many were the truth of the facts."

At that moment, everyone looked at Afonso, who was quite uncomfortable with this notion.

"Nobody here likes this man less than I do, but simply executing him ..."

Chris leaned forward. "It seems to me that the options are few. He cannot continue as an archbishop, and a trial, as Your Majesty just said, would be catastrophic. And he certainly cannot be released with this knowledge of the obscure arts he possesses would make him a man. very dangerous."

  A shiver ran down Afonso's spine. And really, isn't it? How could I have been so stupid? He turned with sudden urgency to the nearby guard captain.

"Triple your guard in the tower! And I want the Archbishop gagged and with his hands tied! Do it, now!"

Four guards charged up the tower steps. One carried a piece of strong rope and a cloth for the gag. They did not understand the orders, but there was no questioning the captain's urgency.

They went up three steps at a time. They reached the top of the steps and found the cell door at the end of the short corridor open and half loose from its hinges, as if it had been broken into by hand, its heavy oak planks shattered and soiled with blood. But not even ten men could have knocked that door down. The strangest thing was that it seemed to have been blown out from the inside.

They approached with hesitation, swords drawn, calling the names of Barrica and Hardin, without reply. The torch that lit the corridor had come free from the iron niche and was on the floor, shimmering. The guard ahead took it and raised it to illuminate the inside of the dark cell. Something warm and moist wrapped around his arm. He released the torch in shock - and was suddenly pulled forward, disappearing into the darkness of the cell. And then the scream came, while its desperate gossip projected in shadows on the cell walls with the torchlight illuminating it.

The scream ended almost as quickly as it started; the shadow stopped. For a moment, silence. The three guards outside the cell had swords drawn, but they did not dare to move forward, feeling their hearts pounding. And then they jumped back, alarmed, when their guard colleague came out of the darkness and plummeted, blood splashing from a cut so deep in his neck that his head hung to one side, crooked. Barrica emerged from the darkness behind him. Or what had been Barrica At that moment, he - that thing - was a kind of wolfish monstrosity, his muscular body gray, reddish. He walked on his hind legs with four other limbs in sight - long muscular arms with large hands now covered in fur and claws like blades. What had been Hardin slid behind the wolf figure and climbed up the wall. A kind of lizard with three heads and socks and its armored skin covered with sharp, bristling spines, and a thick tail like a club wagged slowly back and forth as the animal sneaked in the direction of the three guards.

The nearest of them panicked and, in a foolish move, advanced with his sword. The lizard easily dodged the blow, then responded by releasing a spit that burned the man's chest plate like acid. The guard released his sword, screaming, desperately trying to unbuckle the armor, but, before he could open one of the bands, the acid hit his skin, and he went to the ground, writhing desperately, the final screams echoing down the stone corridor .

The other two guards looked. And Magnus left the cell.

"Drop your weapons and have my word that you will not die here and now."

They did as ordered. Magnus raised his hands and, looking the two men in the eye, began to recite the words that his fallen, horrified friends had spent months perfecting. And right after that, they also belonged to Magnus.