The Sorcerer's Scourge (15 page)

The cleric looked suspiciously at the young man and Landrin could tell that the Bishop was examining him with more than just his eyes. He fed a bit more power into the ward that helped prevent men like the Bishop with just such ability from seeing his true nature. Invisible fingers gently probed at his ward then with more determination.

The Bishop approached Landrin with his hand outstretch. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Bailey.”

If Landrin had a functioning heart, it would be racing right now. Any physical contact would make his mystical disguise useless. Thinking quickly, Landrin swung his outstretched arm around as if to shake hands, caught the half-filled glass Jarvin had set next to the wardrobe, and knocked it from the table upon which it rested.

With amazing quickness, Landrin grabbed for the falling glass and fumbled with it for just a moment, sloshing the drink it contained all over his hands before it found the floor and shattered.

“I beg pardon, Your Majesty!” Landrin exclaimed, feigning embarrassment as he knelt and made to pick up the pieces.

Jarvin immediately ushered him up from the floor. “Leave that, Landrin. I will get a servant to attend to it.”

“Pardon me again, Highness. It has been some time since my family has had servants to deal with such tasks. I beg your pardon as well, Your Grace,” he turned to the Bishop and said while displaying his wine-covered hands.

Bishop Caalendor pursed his lips in thought. “I am not familiar with House Bailey, and I pride myself on knowing all the noble families of station that might be granted such a land grant.”

“My house fell significantly over the past couple generations. It appeared that few if any of the more notable houses were willing to take advantage of such an opportunity, so I begged the King for the chance to perhaps return some measure of prestige to the family name.”

“I see,” the senior cleric replied dubiously but refrained from further questioning.

“It appears the Bishop has urgent news for you, Your Majesty. I would like to start out first thing in the morning. If you could have someone escort me to the treasurer, I will procure the stipend and make to depart at first light.”

Landrin had no intention of waiting for the sun and would likely be huddled in a cave or buried deeply in a snowdrift before the first light peeked over the horizon in its attempt to burn him to nothing more than ash.

“Of course.”

Jarvin called for a lesser functionary to escort Landrin to the treasurer and for a servant to take care of the spill. Landrin bid both the King and the Bishop good evening and gratefully removed himself from the presence of the suspicious cleric.

Once they were alone, Bishop Caalendor addressed Jarvin. “An unusual man this Lord Bailey. How did you come to meet him?”

“He had heard of my request and petitioned me for the position. As every other lord decided to fight me on the issue, I decided to give it to him.”

“A bit young don’t you think? The youth are often brash and may not consider what a daunting task this could be.”

Jarvin smiled as he replayed the young man’s abrupt entrance into the dining hall and his pointed whit in dealing with the elder nobles. “I think a bit of brashness may be just the key to making this a successful venture. Now, you said you had news from Brightridge. Has that terrible matter been dealt with?”

“It has, Your Majesty. Prelate Howarth reports that a unit of Solarian’s light entered the manor of Eldon VonTrellin. Upon inspection, the unit discovered VonTrellin and four others cursed with vampirism and put them to rest. Several surviving witnesses from the ball confirmed sketches of the vampires to be the one’s responsible for the atrocity.”

The King looked grim at the news but nodded appreciatively. “It is good hear such a nest was exterminated. I would like to personally congratulate and reward those that destroyed the vile creatures.”

“Unfortunately, the unit sustained heavy casualties. Only Paladin Samone survived of the four that went in.”

Jarvin’s face fell at the dire news. “That is indeed unfortunate. Do any of the fallen have family I could present a posthumous medal too? I still wish to show Paladin Samone my gratitude as well.”

“The church is usually the only close family a member of Solarian’s Light maintains. There was a young magus attached to the unit who might have family to appreciate such a gesture. I will find out for you. As far as for Paladin Samone, it appears she has taken a leave of absence despite requests to stay and rest for a time.”

“A leave of absence? Do we know where or why she left?” Jarvin asked.

The Bishop shook his head. “The message I received mentioned that she spoke of a greater and darker evil. Prelate Howarth thinks she may have ridden off in search of it. Perhaps she wishes to avenge her fallen comrades.”

“For everyone’s sake, let us pray she is wrong. If there is a greater evil out there than a house of vampires, it would bode quite ill for us all.”

“I shall look into it further. With your permission, I would like to send your pet adventurers north to investigate if find something of significance. They have had little with which to occupy their time since failing their last mission,” Caalendor said.

“Yes, if there is more trouble stirring, best we find its source.”

***

Landrin rode his mount at a full gallop mile after mile without slowing. Such a pace would have killed any other horse—any living one that is. It had been disgustingly easy for him to find a recently dead horse and raise it to an unnatural existence that was so similar to his own.

Even if the soldiers that were to follow him north left in the morning, it would take them nearly a month to catch up with him. They would be lucky to make twenty miles a day in these snows, especially through the narrow and rarely used pass in the Northern Range that divided Valaria and the wild northern lands. Landrin expected to make it in little more than three nights.

By the second night of travel, hunger gnawed at his belly until he could no longer ignore its grumblings. He dismounted after spying tracks and was able to run down an elk with his unnatural speed and endurance. If the blood of a human was a fine vintage to a vampire’s palate, the blood of an animal was like drinking from a warm mud puddle. It would sustain him, but it would leave him desiring better.

His hunt had cost him time and it was not until late on the evening of his fourth night of travel that he arrived in End’s Run. He released his mount back to its natural state of death just outside the town and walked the last mile until he reached the outer wall of the settlement.

The wall, as with every structure in the town, was constructed of sturdy logs, the smallest of which measured two feet across. They were all more or less uniformly cut to a height of about fifteen-feet high and carved into a point. Had anyone bothered to man the gates, it would present a formidable obstacle for anyone lacking scaling ladders, siege equipment, or vastly superior numbers. As it was, the gates stood open and unguarded and Landrin strode through without contest.

Despite the late hour, there was no shortage of people carousing the muddy, slushy streets. Some men appeared to be simply loitering while others looked for potential victims to rob. Prostitutes openly plied their trade while others were simply staggering home from a night of heavy drinking. Landrin followed the sound of loud music and drunken revelry until he located the primary drinking hole of the town.

The tavern was enormous, but it was still packed to capacity. A smoky haze filled the air from the large central fireplace as well as the dozens of cheap tallow candles spread about the room in wall sconces high enough up the wall to prevent being accidentally tipped. The fireplace was an impressive affair. It looked like a large stone well set in the middle of the room with a metal hood hovering above it attached to a brick chimney.

On the far side of the enormous common room, a group of men was using what appeared to be a dwarf as some sort of ball or puck to knock down several bottles stacked at the end of a wooden chute covered with a light coating of sand. On further inspection, Landrin saw that it was not a dwarf but a half-man.

Half-men were humans born with a condition that prevented them from growing to a normal size and often left them disfigured in some sort of way. Most half-men did not live past infancy as the deformity was usually discovered early in life and the parents killed them as abominations. Landrin saw that this half-man was indeed misshapen with his left arm and leg noticeably shorter than the opposing pair.

There was no way Landrin was going to be able to capture the attentions of this group with words, so he called upon the Source and directed it to the fire blazing away in the center of the room. The cheery fire erupted into a blazing inferno, lightly scorching those sitting along its stone outer ring. Landrin poured more energy into the conflagration as those nearby leapt away in fright.

He let the flames return to normal as he strode forward, pulled out the writ, and read the proclamation in a loud voice. “
To all peoples of End’s Run, be it known that Lord Landrin Bailey
, that’s me,
is hereby appointed laird of said township with all the rights and responsibilities of a lord of Valaria.
It goes on but you all get the point and I do not wish to interrupt your festivities any longer than I must.
Signed on this date by Jarvin Ollander, King of Valaria
.”

Several men detached themselves from the crowd and stepped forward. One of the men looked back as if counting his followers before returning his gaze to Landrin. Landrin noted that he had a gold pin in the shape of a skull impaled on an upward thrusting sword. Most of the other men who appeared to be part of his group had the same insignia in silver clasped somewhere on their shirts.

“You have come to the wrong place, little lordling. End’s Run belongs to me, not the King. Always has and it always will. I’ll be sure to pen a letter stating as such when I return your corpse to him.”

“And you are?” Landrin inquired although he had a good idea already.

“Farley, and I control End’s Run,” the man explained with false politeness.

Landrin returned Farley’s smile with equal sincerity. “Mr. Farley, the likelihood of you defeating me is only slightly less probable than your ability to actually form a letter, much less string enough of them together to form a coherent sentence. There is a contingent of King’s Men following not far behind me. If you leave now, you could escape with most of your ill-gotten gains and live a comfortable life wherever you wish—except here of course. If you insist on staying, I will personally hang your corpse in whatever passes as a town square as a reminder that the King’s law does indeed extend to End’s Run and will henceforth be enforced.”

Farley shook his head without losing his smile. “You should’a brought ‘em with you, lordling. Now I’m gonna spill your guts, and when that contingent does arrive, they’re gonna find End’s Run one hard nut to crack.”

The warlord pulled two enormous hunting knives from his belt and strode towards the young nobleman menacingly. It all happened so fast no one even saw the strike. Landrin stood impassively until Farley was less than two paces away and drawing back one of the big knives in preparation of a lunge. There was a blur of movement and Landrin’s rapier appeared to materialize out of the back of the bandit leader’s neck.

Landrin pulled the blade out, whipped it swiftly to the side to fling the blood off it, and let Farley’s body crumple to the floor. The entire bar was silent and stood motionless for several long seconds as their alcohol-addled brains processed what had just happened.

Farley’s men surged forward like a stampede of cattle. Landrin ducked a number of clumsy swings, darted between several men, and left three corpses in his wake. He spun around as he passed through, blocking several sword and knife thrusts as well as dodging multiple kicks.

Given the sheer number of blades thrust at him, even Landrin’s inhuman speed could not deflect or dodge them all. It mattered little however as nothing short of a magical or holy weapon could cause him permanent or debilitating harm, unless one of them managed to cut off his head. He stifled a wince as a knife found its way into his lower back and a sword cut a shallow trough in his thigh.