Beside the Sorcerer's Saga: 100 SA Drabbles

[Maxim Horvath]

Horvath and I found a collection of 100 SA drabble prompts from the Balthy 100 challenge on FF.N. We thought we'd share the results with you. These are just short little bits, but we do oh so love comments!

First one!


#1: Arcana Cabana

Balthazar Blake collapsed to his knees as the last glittering motes of dust were sucked into the Grimhold. The nesting doll grew hot in his hands, and an image appeared on its smooth black surface- a scowling man with a short beard and heavy eyebrows, a cane topped with a gleaming blue gem clutched in one hand.

It was over.

Maxim Horvath had finally been captured.

Balthazar looked up, half hoping to see the faerie woman who'd warned him about Horvath's impending attack. There was no sign of her, however, none that he could detect with either his eyes or his magical senses. A pity, that. He would have liked to have been able to thank her. He didn't know why Robin Goodfellow herself had come to warn him, but he was grateful. Moreover, he knew that he owed her a debt. Had Horvath managed to catch him unawares, he would have been in serious trouble. Goodfellow's warning had probably saved his life, and a debt to a faerie was always better paid off sooner rather than later.

Well, since he had no way to get hold of Goodfellow, he would just have to wait on that count. In the meantime, there was his shop to consider.

The sorcerer surveyed his shop, wincing at the mess. He and Horvath had managed to damage or destroy nearly half the items on display out here, and he was only thankful that the few with real power to them had not been among the casualties. That Han vase would have caused a rather awkward incident had it been opened...

Balthazar sighed and set the Grimhold on the counter, Horvath's glaring, painted face staring at him with furious dark eyes. On the whole, he almost preferred having to stare at Sun Loc's image. The Chinese Morganian hadn't betrayed him and his love, after all.

Turning towards the front of the store, the sorcerer saw that the front window of his shop had been shattered in the fight. Shards of glass were scattered over the floor, glinting in the gaslight like frozen flames themselves.

That, at least, wasn't as much of a problem as it could have posed. He'd been meaning to replace that front window anyway, and have his shop's name painted on the front. He could fix that now.

He picked his way through the clutter until he could stand in front of the broken window, and raised one hand. The emerald-green jewel in his ring began to glow with a soft green light, like sunbeams filtering through new spring leaves. Around him, the glass fragments began to stir, rising into the air as if they'd been picked up by an invisible cyclone. They spun around for a moment, each shard glowing green around the edges, then as one they flew to the window frame and began to reassemble themselves into a single flat pane of glass.

There was a difference between this window and the old one, however. The old window had been dusty, scratched, and plain. This one gleamed like new crystal, and two words were emblazoned across it in gold and green letters.

Arcana Cabana.

[Maxim Horvath]

Second one!

#2: Trousers

“BALTHAZAR BLAKE!”

Maxim's furious bellow, amplified by a spell, rang through the clearing where the three apprentices had stopped to make camp for the evening. Veronica looked up from where she knelt tending the small pot of stew she was heating over their fire. The three of them had stopped early that evening because Maxim's horse had decided to dump him in a fresh pile of dung, and the young sorcerer had stalked off to the stream to clean up, glowering at Balthazar as he laughed. In the six months she'd known the two male apprentices she'd grown used to their squabbles. While they were friends, Balthazar did enjoy needling the younger common-born boy whenever he was bored. Maxim, for his part, tended to gave as good as he got, social pretensions be damned.

This seemed to be a bit beyond Balthazar's usual pranks, however. Maxim didn't normally react by storming into camp, half-clothed, soaking wet, and red-faced with fury.

Balthazar looked up from where he sat adjusting a bit of tack. “Yes?” he asked, all innocent. He grinned at the other apprentice. “Forget something when you went to take a bath, did we?”

Maxim glared. “No,” he said, with all the dignity he could muster while wearing only his grubby tunic and with water dripping from his dark hair. “I did not forget to take something with me. Now give me back my trousers, Balthazar!”

[Maxim Horvath]

#3: Shoes

Resting both hands atop his cane, Maxim Horvath studied the young woman in front of him. In all the years he and Balthazar had spent searching for the Prime Merlinean, neither of them had predicted this particular situation. Balthazar Blake had indeed discovered the Prime Merlinean, a young man named David Stutler. A bit of a bumbling fool, really, all neurosis and desire to be normal even though he could not deny even to himself that he was anything but. Balthazar had taken that young man and trained him, turning him into one of the most powerful- or potentially powerful- sorcerers the world had ever seen, heir to the power of Merlin the Wise himself.

It seemed, however, David was not alone in being Merlin's heir. Another shared his blood, and that of Morgana herself.

David Stutler had a twin sister.

The moment Horvath had realized this, he had been overjoyed. He'd developed a knack for sensing latent power in people, and Anna was awash with it. Not only was she twin to the Prime Merlinean, but she was female, and female sorcerers were nearly always more powerful than their male counterparts. Not for nothing had Kipling said that the female of the species was the more deadly. Horvath had courted the girl over the past few weeks and drawn her in as his own apprentice. She was not much like her brother. She was tougher, focusing on music and technology instead of physics, and her appearance was... well, by Horvath's standards, it was outright bizarre.

But he really didn't care that Anna's hair was currently streaked with bright patches of red and violet, and he didn't care that she dressed in a manner vaguely reminiscent of his one-time associate Drake Stone. She belonged to him now, and she would be the instrument of Balthazar Blake's defeat.

Horvath smiled at the girl. “I am glad that you decided to join me, Anna,” he said. “It is time we get started with your training. First, however, you require three things.”

“Oh?” she said. “What's that?”

“First, and most important, your focus and your Incantus.” The Incantus he gave her was more or less standard, though tweaked to show a slightly more Morganian view of things, and the focus was none other than the heavy silver pentacle that he'd taken from Abigail Williams nearly four months ago.

Anna accepted both, turning the pentacle over in her hands. “Cool,” she said. She hung it around her neck and looked up at her new master. “What's the third thing?”

The old sorcerer gestured with his cane, and a pair of somewhat old-fashioned woman's shoes floated out of a box towards Anna. “A nice pair of pointy shoes.”

[Maxim Horvath]

#4: Life

Fifteen hundred years was a very long time. No normal human had even lived a tenth of that.

But Balthazar Blake had.

He'd been wandering the world for almost twenty lifetimes, first with two close friends, then alone. And why? To find the Prime Merlinean, but why was he hunting for someone who may never come into being?

To save lives.

The Prime Merlinean was prophesied to destroy Morgana, the greatest threat to humanity the ancient world had seen. Kill her, and countless lives would be saved.

And that was worth any sacrifice, wasn't it? Was it worth wandering to the ends of the earth, decade after endless decade? Worth carrying around a piece of his heart in a little nesting doll?

When he finally saw Morgana defeated and held up the gold necklace to Veronica, when he finally saw her face light up in pure joy and felt her press her lips against his, Balthazar knew.

This was life.

Life was worth it any sacrifice.

[Maxim Horvath]

#5: Death

She'd been thirty-three the first time it happened. A Norman arrow had managed to slip through her defenses in the middle of battle and plunged into her chest. At first, Veronica hadn't realized what happen. The pain radiating from just under her left breast seemed distant, removed. She felt dizzy. Her ears rang for a moment before her hearing seemed to cut out entirely. Her vision grayed.

All she saw before she collapsed was Maxim's stricken face as he wheeled and raised the hilt of his sword, the blue gem in its hilt flaring with a fierce light as fire lept from it to consume her killer.

So this was dying, Veronica thought vaguely. Funny how it felt a bit like going to sleep, except colder. It didn't hurt at all. Strange. It seemed to her that it should have. The wound in her chest should hurt. She should have felt the way her folded-up leg twinged beneath her, or the way her head bumped against the ground.

She seemed to drift in the cold darkness and utter silence for a long time. She could not say just how long she drifted, only that she did. It was peaceful, here. No battle, no invading Normans or Britons screaming orders to one another, no fiery blasts of magic mustered by each side to try and eliminate the other.

No Balthazar.

She quite regretted dying without telling Balthazar how she felt.

As if the thought of Balthazar had been some arcane spell, she heard a distant rumbling that soon resolved itself into two distinct male voices, both baritones.

“- you said you'd make sure she was safe!”

“Veronica didn't need us to protect her, Balthazar. She was as capable as either of us.”

“You promised you'd protect her!”

Veronica opened her eyes, quite surprised that she was able to do so, as she thought she distinctly remembered being dead just a few minutes ago. Even more surprisingly, nothing hurt, though her eyes weren't quite ready to focus just yet.

“Balthazar?” she whispered.

A tall, lean shape in traveling leathers was at her side in an instant, resolving itself into a very familiar figure. Balthazar took her hand in his. “Veronica?” he said, as if he couldn't dare to believe what he was hearing. “God, Veronica, I thought you were-”

“Dead,” Maxim finished, coming up to take Veronica's other hand. “I'm sorry, Veronica, I should have been watching out- I should have seen that archer sooner.”

She smiled a little at him. That was Maxim for you- not as explosively tempered as Balthazar, but that certainly did not mean he didn't feel as strongly as the older apprentice. “It's not your fault,” she said.

“Merlin's spell,” Balthazar said wonderingly. “It worked. It stopped you from dying.”

“I was worried there for a time,” she admitted, smiling up at Balthazar. Should she tell him now? He ought to know how she felt...

No, she decided as Balthazar helped her to sit up. No, there would be time to tell him later. After all, without death they had all the time in the world.

[Maxim Horvath]

#6: Unicorn

Anna frowned at the open book on her small table. “Unicorns, boss?” she said doubtfully. “Seriously, unicorns?”

Horvath turned from his perusal of a laden bookshelf. “Do you have a problem with that?” he inquired with a slight arch of one eyebrow.

“Well, no, but...” She gestured to the faded ink drawing on the page of her Incantus. “I mean, why? Seems sorta silly to study something that never existed outside of some old philosopher's absinthe dream. And then there's the whole virgin thing...”

“For your information, Anna, they did exist.” Horvath tapped the page of her Incantus with his cane. “They're more or less extinct now apart from a few scattered populations in Scotland and other similarly-desolate areas- over hunting, for the most part. And contrary to popular belief, only male unicorns are attracted to female virgins.”

This made his apprentice pause a moment and look up at him. To Horvath's sudden unease, there was a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Oh?” she said. “And what are female unicorns attracted to?”

Horvath cleared his throat, desperately trying not to blush at the memory of one particularly embarrassing unicorn encounter back in the seventh century that had earned him several months of ribbing from Balthazar Blake. But he knew Anna wasn't about to let him off the hook for this one, not while she had that look on her face. “Male virgins.”

[Maxim Horvath]

#7: Squirrel

It taunted him day after day. Every time he went to the park, it was there, small and furry with an oh-so-superior glint in its beady black eyes. No, it wasn't just taunting- the little fuzzball was laughing at him. There was really nothing else to describe it.

It was laughing at him now. It sat up on the branch of its tree, half an acorn clasped in its little clawed paws, its tail twitching in silent mirth.

He stared up at it. Oh, how he wanted to catch it, to wipe that smug little grin off its face. That would teach it, he just knew. If it would just come down out of its tree, he could show it.

It squeaked once, then, quite deliberately, threw the acorn at him. It bounced off his head, prompting the little furry monster to squeak again in triumph.

Oh that was it. He was going to get it now and teach it a lesson, tree or no.

He lunged for it, but was drawn up short by something yanking on his neck. He stopped, growling a little in the back of his throat.

“C'mon Tank,” Dave said, tugging a little on the leash. “Leave the squirrel alone.”

[Maxim Horvath]

#8: Monkey


Balthazar was getting very annoyed with the monkey.

The little black and white animal had decided to attach itself to him the moment he set foot on the ship. Every time he turned around the little monster was trying to get into his bags, or clinging to his coat and digging through his pockets.

He snatched it up by the tail and glared at it. “Stop that,” he ordered, prying a silk-wrapped bundle from the monkey's paws. Of all the things for it to get into, it had to find Veronica's necklace.

The monkey chattered at Balthazar and pulled itself up to sit on his arm, tugging at his cufflinks.

“Oh no you don't.” Balthazar yanked his cuff free and stalked out of the tiny cabin he'd been granted and up onto the deck. The captain, an older man with many blackened teeth and a scraggly beard, was near the wheel consulting with the navigator. “Captain!”

The captain looked up, straightening his beplumed hat. “What is it ye want?” he demanded.

Balthazar wordlessly held out the monkey, who chattered and climbed onto its owner's arm.

“Ah, so there ye be, Jack.” He scratched the animal's chin fondly. “Was wonderin' where ye went off to.”

[Maxim Horvath]

#9: Good


“Why should you serve them, weakening yourself with the pain in your heart, when you could be your own master and serve no one?”

The words whispered through his mind in the still night, ghosts of what Morgana had asked him. If Maxim hadn't known any better, he would have thought that she'd used a spell to ensure that they stayed with him. But she couldn't have- his detection spells would have alerted him, wouldn't they?

He almost wished that he hadn't accepted Merlin's assignment to infiltrate the Morganians and report on their activities. The timing had been good, for he would have welcomed anything that got him away from Balthazar and Veronica now that they'd decided to inform the world of their affections for one another-

Lost out again to the great Balthazar Blake.

- and after all, he'd always been the one sent to gather information. He was quick and observant, and after having to teach himself how to act among nobles it was easy to teach himself how to blend in with any other crowd. He was the natural choice for the job.

But Morgana made so much sense. It was very tempting, to think of himself serving no master. No landlord. No ancient sorcerer who allowed no questioning of his teachings. No king. Just himself. Really and truly the master of his own destiny. Perhaps if he'd struck out on his own before, he might have won Veronica's heart. Certainly Balthazar carried himself as his own man.

Hell's bells.

It was hard to remain on the path of 'good' when you weren't certain what was truly 'good' anymore.

[Maxim Horvath]

#10: Evil


“Yes,” said the old sorcerer with a slightly raised eyebrow. “It's a shame they'll all be dead soon.”

Drake Stone found himself unable to meet Horvath's eyes as his words sank in. They were so coldly spoken, so dispassionate, that they were a little frightening. For a moment, the young magician wondered what it was he'd gotten into. When Maxim Horvath, the leader of the Morganian sorcerers for centuries, had turned up in his loft seeking an assistant, Drake had jumped at the chance. Since the disappearance of his own master he'd been lost and forced to improvise (and if he did say so himself, he'd done a pretty spiffy job of it too). The thought of learning from Maxim Horvath himself... he thought it would be like getting the chance to work for Harry Houdini. The sheer amount of experience alone was staggering to think about.

He hadn't expected that Horvath would be so cold. He spoke of killing thousands- perhaps millions- with the same air of an adult telling a child that if he ate all the sweets today he'd have none for tomorrow. That made Drake shiver, just a little, as he trailed after his master.

It was a good thing they were on the same side. Surely the evil in Horvath's nature would only be directed at enemies, at those who stood in their way. As long as he served Horvath well, he'd be safe.

[Maxim Horvath]

#11: Nose


Maxim Horvath had no conscious recollection of actually deciding to hit Mordred le Fey. The command seemed to have been sent to his arm without his mind having anything to do with it. He simply turned and found himself pummeling the taller man for all he was worth.

Mordred, to his credit, swiftly recovered from the shock of Horvath's sudden attack. He managed to slam his elbow into Horvath's face in the process of fending off furious blows, and Horvath reeled back as something in his nose made an unpleasant crunching sound. Gingerly, he touched it, his fingers meeting warm blood as a flare of pain stabbed through his head.

Sneering, Mordred raised his hand. The ring on his left hand glowed with a yellow-orange fire as he prepared a spell, crackling with the intensity of the magic the Morganian was calling up. Horvath scrambled for his own focus, the sapphire gem embedded in the hilt of his sword. It caught on his belt and as he struggled to get it free, he saw Mordred release his spell.

Even as Horvath braced himself for what was probably going to be a great deal of pain, a rippling force interposed itself between him and Mordred's spell. The fireball splashed harmlessly across the magical shield and died.

“This,” said Morgana le Fey, a cold expression on her face, “Will not do. Brawling like a commoner, Horvath? You betray your origins.”

Horvath felt his face grow hot at the admonition, embarrassment nearly overriding the pain of his broken nose. He'd spent many years trying to conceal his common background, and to be called out on it in front of Mordred.

He tried very hard to ignore the malicious way Mordred's face lit up at his mother's comment. “My apologies, Morgana,” he said, his brown eyes downcast.

Morgana surveyed him for a moment before sweeping away. Mordred smirked at him as he turned to follow her. “Might want to clean yourself up, commoner,” he called over his shoulder in a parting shot.

His cheeks still burning, Horvath slunk off to the tiny rooms he was allotted to do just that. In retrospect, attacking Mordred had not been the cleverest thing he'd ever done.

But if Mordred ever started talking about all the things he was going to do to Veronica after the Morganians stole the Rising spell, Horvath knew he'd probably do it again.

[Maxim Horvath]

13: Potato


Alone in the luxurious penthouse apartment he'd long ago managed to obtain and hold for himself, Horvath irritably speared a chunk of potato with his fork.

Defeated. Forced to retreat with his tail between his legs, routed by the great Balthazar Blake and some... some boy. And not just defeated. He'd lost the goal he'd been striving for for over twelve hundred years. Morgana was dead, and with the Prime Merlinean now prowling around with his full powers there was little chance at being able to exact a proper revenge.

The force with which Horvath stabbed his fork into the piece of potato split the starchy vegetable in half, resulting in neither piece actually reaching his mouth. The sorcerer muttered a curse in medieval French and shoved his plate away.

This was ridiculous. He was Maxim Horvath, the leader of the Morganians for centuries. He'd built his reputation on fox-like craftiness backed by an immense power few could match. There had to be a way he could salvage something out of this. He just had to focus.

Closing his eyes, he tried to calm himself so he could think, letting his mind and senses wander where they would. He caught the murmur of conversation from the floor below and, sharpening his hearing, was just able to make out a recorded male voice with a slight British accent saying calmly, “These are not the droids you are looking for.”

Horvath's eyes snapped open. Not the droids you are looking for. He'd heard that recently, and there was something important attached to it, something just outside his reach...

The young Indian man behind the desk smiled at him indulgently. “First I'll need to see your faculty identification card.”

“You don't need to see my faculty identification card,” Horvath said softly, raising his cane so that the secretary could see the hypnotic blue glow of the gem set into its handle. The man's eyes went out of focus for a moment.

“I don't need to see your faculty identification card.”

Beside him, Drake Stone grinned and waved his hand in a pseudo-mystical manner. “These are not the droids you are looking for.”

Horvath gritted his teeth and looked upwards. Stone and his games. Couldn't the idiot boy see how ridiculous he was being? “I'm looking for Stutler,” he told the secretary.

The man tapped a few keys and looked up, still with that slightly unfocused expression. “Which one?” he asked. “I have an Anna Stutler and a David Stutler.”

The sorcerer grimaced. More wastes of his time. “David Stutler,” he snapped, putting a little more force into his compulsion spell. “I need his file. Now.”

Anna Stutler.

Stutler.

Horvath's eyes widened. Another Stutler. What were the odds of a second Stutler showing up at the same school? Admittedly New York University was a large school, but for the name to be brought up while he was hunting for Dave, it seemed an awfully large coincidence.

In magic there were no coincidences.

Anna Stutler.

Perhaps a relative of the Prime Merlinean?

In any case, it was a direction, a place to start.

Horvath smiled wolfishly.