The Sorcerer's Scourge (2 page)

"You should have left us alone, warm blood. Now it will be your blood I savor tonight," the dark figure hissed malignly.

Landrin barely had a second to try to figure out exactly what the man meant before he threw himself at the would-be rescuer with that impossible quickness. However, Landrin was no slouch when it came to defending himself and was better prepared for the charge. He brought his rapier down in a wickedly quick jab as he snapped his left arm out straight, trailed his right leg behind, and leaned into the thrust by shifting his weight onto the forward foot to add power to his lunge.

It was a textbook perfect move, but the man impossibly managed to dart to the side. The slender blade pierced the flesh and slid between the ribs of the rushing figure well right of the heart at which Landrin had aimed. Although not immediately lethal, it was still a grievous wound that would stop most men in their tracks, or at least make them balk at pressing on. Nevertheless, the man continued his charge, throwing his body against Landrin’s extended blade and struck the bard in chest with his fist.

Landrin flew back and hit the wall heavily as the man grasped the handle of his rapier and pulled it out of his body.

This is not possible!
Landrin thought as the man casually tossed the sword aside as if it were no more than an annoyance.

It was then that Landrin realized he was not dealing
with a mugger, thief, or even a man for that matter. It was a vampire! The very thought sent ice coursing through his veins. He had heard
legends about the powerful and evil creatures, but he had given them scant attention. He dismissed them as wives’ tales and stories used to frighten children.

A scream filled the alley and the bard was unsure whether it was his or if the woman had finally broken whatever spell held
her in shock and kept her from fleeing. Landrin gave the woman the credit since he was hardly ably to draw a breath much less produce a scream of that magnitude.

"I can tell from the look in your eyes and the smell of fear wafting from your body that you finally realize what is about to kill you this night," the vampire hissed with a cruel humor in its voice as it stalked towards him once again.

Landrin stood, called upon his wizardly power, and sent three magical bolts of energy into the foul, undead creature. For once, his attack elicited a response other than amusement as the creature let out a hiss of pain and anger. The bard's elation at actually having hurt the vampire was short-lived as the undead abomination hurled himself at the bard, leaping across the alley with apparent ease and crushing Landrin in his cold, deadly embrace.

Landrin felt the vampire squeeze the air from his lungs while a fiery burst of pain lanced through his neck when the needle-sharp fangs pierced and tore
his skin. Helpless, Landrin could only stand against his will as the incredibly strong embrace of the vampire held him up while his blood poured down his neck. Landrin felt a certain detachment as the vampire feasted upon the blood pumping from the horrific wound. The light of the distant streetlamp started growing dim as he slowly lost consciousness. Darkness finally took him as his body succumbed to the blood loss.

Eldon preferred the blood of young, attractive women, but this buffoon had interrupted him. He was still annoyed at that, but fortunately, the bard was not a bad substitute. The young popinjay was healthy and his minor control of magic gave his blood a rare flavor as exquisite as a fine wine. He thought about taking the woman back home to drink from another day but quickly realized that she had fled.

He was just moments from finishing off the last of the blood from his latest victim when
he heard the rapid stomping of booted feet, the flickering of torches, and shouts of
men coming down the street. The appearance of a few locals did not concern him. He could fight and kill a roomful of average men with little
fear of being harmed, but he had a good life here and did not want to attract too much attention by slaughtering a score of men and having
their bodies found strewn about the street to be discovered in the morning. Nor would it please his master to reveal himself to the populace until it was time. As it was, his victim's death would likely be attributed to some brutal murder by a
desperate hoodlum, surprised in his attempt at robbing or ravishing the woman that had fled and summoned help.

As the sound of footsteps grew near, he decided to flee, his hunger satiated for a few days. He ran down the alley, leapt a full twenty feet up to land on the roof of a two-story building, and disappeared across the rooftops into the night.

The men entered the alley with their torches casting wavering light on the walls, brandishing all manner of weapons from short swords, a meat
cleaver, several cudgels, and a few butcher knives. They peered into the shadows cast by their flickering light and saw the body of the young, handsome bard lying in the filthy alley. One of the men walked closer, bent down to inspect the
body, and looked into the open blue eyes of the dead singer.

"Bloody hell, that's Landrin. He just sang at my inn tonight," Amos quietly announced. "Poor fool decided to be a hero like the ones in his songs and paid dearly for it," Amos said as he closed the bard's eyes.

***

Landrin opened his eyes and initially saw only darkness. Panic instantly gripped him as he tried to raise his hands only to strike something
hard just a few inched above his body. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dark and he made out the grain within the wall of wood that was only a few
inches in front of his face.

By the gods, they thought I was dead and they buried me. They buried me alive!

Panic gave way to terror as the bard screamed at the top of
his lungs. He shouted until his voice gave out and then started punching at the top of the pine wood box. The fear of being buried alive gave strength to his attack as he repeatedly struck and clawed at the lid of his tomb.

The cracking of the soft wood rewarded his struggles as it gave way under the force of his terror-driven blows. Landrin forced his fingernails into the wood
where it had split and tore at it in frenzy. Dirt showered his body as he ripped chunks of wood from the coffin lid.

I'll suffocate
under the
dirt,
he thought, but was determined to free himself from his grave.

More dark soil ran into the wooden box as he tore through the lid and turned the fissure into a gaping hole. The cascade of dirt
covered his face as he destroyed the planks above him. His panic increased as it filled his mouth, nose, and covered his eyes.

Finally free of the wooden barrier, he
frantically clawed at the dirt as it pressed in all around and above him. Landrin thrust his hands above him and pulled the soil down into the wooden box in his bid to burrow his way to freedom. His struggles seemed like an eternity and he was sure that whatever air he had stored in his lungs would never last long enough to see him escape his underground prison. Elation filled him as he felt his hand burst out of the soil and grasp at the cool night air above.

Landrin pulled himself out of the terrifying embrace of the engulfing soil and let out the stale air he held in his lungs. Or would have if he had been holding his breath. He suddenly realized that he had no air in his lungs, in fact, he was not breathing at all. He had to have been breathing in order to shout. He drew in a deep lungful of air and let it out. He drew in another, whistled, and hummed as he was
normally able to do, but now he actually had to think about it, had to concentrate on performing the action that used to come as naturally
as, well, breathing.

The vampire,
he thought as he recalled the fight with the evil creature.
It can't be! It's not possible! What can I do? Where can I go? Is
there a cure?

Those and a hundred other questions raced through his mind. He studied his hands. His nails should had been ripped out by his clawing at the coffin and digging his way out of several feet of dirt and stone, but they were sharp and intact. He looked around the graveyard where he had
been buried on the outskirts of the city. His eyes pierced the darkness like a dagger through cloth. Everything stood out in stark detail. He
looked at the sky and easily saw tenfold the number of stars that he recalled seeing when he was alive.

When he was alive. He nearly choked on the thought. He became aware of something else—a hunger. A hunger like none he had
ever felt before burned in his stomach and in his soul. Or whatever it was that he now possessed. He craved sustenance of some kind and knew
the direction in which he could find it. The bard walked back towards the city, drawn by the craving as his mind continued to try to come to terms with this new reality. He knew the gates would be closed and guarded at this time of night, especially since the former King had just recently been assassinated.
He sought out the shadows and swiftly crept up to the darkness-shrouded base of the thirty-foot wall surrounding the city.

He dug his fingers into the slim cracks of the tight-fitting stones and lifted himself up. Landrin was amazed at the ease with which he was able to support his own weight as he crawled up the sheer face of the wall. He braced his feet against the stone and felt them find purchase where he
should have found none. His feet seemed to cling to the wall with a will all their own. The bard pulled his hard, sharp fingernails out from between
the large, cut stones, placed a hand against the wall, and felt it grip the stone just as his feet did. He tried it with the other hand with the same results. He hung suspended ten feet above the ground clinging to the stone like a spider. In his elation at discovering this newfound talent, he almost forgot the horrible price he had paid to attain it. He swiftly climbed up the wall and perched himself at the top and surveyed
his surroundings. He could smell the scent of the living. It was not just the sweat and filth he smelled, but their blood as well—
and he craved it. He knew he would stop at nothing to attain it to feed his hunger.

Landrin knew that even at this late hour, the streets would not be empty. Thieves, prostitutes, and their customers wandered the dark byways and alleys. He dropped to the ground thirty feet below and stalked down the dark lanes in search of his quarry.

It did not take long before he found his first living prey. Several men, sailors from the look of them, staggered down the street towards him, likely returning to their ship after a hard night's drinking and carousing. Landrin decided to let them pass unmolested. He felt certain that he
could kill them all, but that would make far too much noise and attract too much attention. He was not entirely certain of his power yet
. It could be fatal to overestimate his strength and abilities. He laughed aloud at the thought after remembering to draw a breath.

His laughter caught the attention of a prostitute standing under an oil-fueled streetlamp. She shot him a smile and batted her painted eyes at him.
Fortunately, she could not see the dirt that still clung to his clothes and hair in the darkness.

"Looking for a good time, handsome stranger?" the woman of the night asked flirtatiously.

"Indeed. You might say I am starved for some companionship," Landrin said, chuckling at his little jest.

The former bard walked over to the woman and asserted his will upon her.

"Come. Follow me,
my lady," he gently commanded as he guided her by the elbow to the unlit alley across the street.

He looked into her blank stare as the pulsating artery in her neck drew his eyes. Landrin could see and smell the blood flowing just under the skin. He leaned forward as he tilted her head back, his lips brushing the perfumed, tender flesh that his sharp fangs would rend apart like tissue paper
.

"No!" he shouted and shoved the woman away from him. "Go! Run away as fast as you can!"
I cannot do this! I will not do to others as was
done to me. I will not make another vampire and I will not take a life like an animal!