The Sorcerer's Scourge (3 page)

He dropped to his knees and prayed to Solarian, god of light, that he would never take a life just to feed his wicked desire. He would never create another vampire. He would never allow himself to become the instrument of ultimate evil or spread the disease that was their existence.

"What have we here? It looks like a pretty little bird got out of his cage," a voice sneered at him through the opening of the alley. "I hope you
didn't give that whore all your coin before she ran off. What are you doing down there? Did she stick ya for your coin instead of you sticking her?" he laughed as he pulled out a knife and advanced towards his target.

"Leave me alone if you value your life," Landrin advised, not even looking up at the man that threatened him.

"You're not in a good position to be makin’ threats, boy'o. Now give me all of your coin, jewelry, and anything else you have of value. Those look
like good boots. I’ll take those too."

"I said go away," Landrin hissed as he sprang to his feet with a speed and grace that surprised the mugger.

"You shouldn't have made this hard, boy'o, but I guess I'm going to have to kill you for it now," he said as he lunged forward, thrusting the
knife deep into Landrin's chest.

"You're too late. Someone else already beat you to it," the vampire said as he reached out and grabbed the man by the throat.

He bent the man's head to the side and opened up his neck with a slice from a razor-sharp fingernail. He placed his mouth over the pumping
gore and drank hungrily until it slowed to a trickle then stopped completely. The man struggled briefly and futilely against his iron grip. The man pulled the knife out
of the Landrin's chest and tried to stab him again, but quickly lost the strength to drive the blade home.

Satiated, Landrin released his grip and let the dead body crumple to the ground. The realization of what he had just
done filled him with horror and he dropped to his knees, nearly retching the entire contents of his stomach back out onto the ground.

I had to kill
him!  He attacked me, and he was an evil man and deserved to die. I did not bite into him so he should not rise again,
he thought as tried to
rationalize what he had done.

Landrin decided he could live with it. He chuckled again at the unintended joke.
I will have to drink human blood from time to time in order to survive, but I do not have to murder people to get it.

He tried to appease his guilt with this seemingly rational argument, but knew he was only fooling himself. He could not live this way. He
would not live this way. He would find another way. He had to. Landrin also knew that he had to find someone. He did not know whom, but he knew he
needed to seek them out, wherever they were. Some unknown sense pointed him in the direction that he must go to find them, and knew they were not far off. Across the city perhaps, no further. He followed the direction his instinct compelled him to go and set off in search of whoever waited for him.

Landrin stuck close to the shadows of the street as he stalked across the city, pulled by some unknown force to some unknown place. T
raveling in the darkest shadows seemed to comfort him like a warm blanket on a cold night. And it was a cold night, but he felt no discomfort
nor did his breath fog the air when he chose to take one. A large, mangy cur darted out of an alley and growled at him only to tuck its tail
between its legs and run when Landrin glared at it. He could smell the fear and urine the beast left behind in its flight.

His movements were swift, and although he had crossed half the city, he did not feel the slightest bit of fatigue. Being undead certainly had its
advantages.

No!
He shouted at himself.
I must not take pleasure in this form or I will be lost to the madness and evil that it represents. I must keep control or I will lose myself and everything I ever was!

He knew he was getting near his destination and began to wonder what fate awaited him. He was in the wealthier merchant district now and soon found himself standing at the gates of a large manor. Landrin looked up and down the street to ensure no one was around to observe him before he leapt the ten-foot,
wrought iron gate with ease. He landed on the other side the gate without a sound, and keeping to the shadows once again, crept towards the
impressive mansion.

The mansion was a three-story brick and stucco affair with an elaborate balcony wrapping around the entire second and third floor. Once again, he
tensed his legs beneath him and sprang high up into the air to land with a cat's grace upon the second-floor balcony. He quickly located an unlocked, glass-paned double door
and slipped silently inside.

Whatever force had led him to this mansion was now throbbing almost painfully inside his skull. He knew he was close to whatever it was he was supposed to
find here. He opened the door to the vacant bedroom that he had entered from the balcony and stepped into a grand hallway. As he turned
towards the direction of the urging, an incredibly powerful hand seized him by the throat and shoved him back hard into the wall.

"You have chosen the wrong house to rob tonight, little thief," a familiar voice hissed into his ear.

Landrin reacted instantly, knocked the hand away from his throat, and delivered a powerful punch into the man's chest, driving him back several steps. The blow would have nearly killed a normal man, but the owner of the manor was far from ordinary as recognition blossomed on both men's faces.

"You!" Landrin cried out in shock and rage.

"Well, if it isn't the gallant hero," the vampire laughed mockingly.

Landrin charged at the vampire who had replaced his life with this abominated undead substitution.

"What have you done to me?" the enraged bard demanded as he lunged at the vile creature that had cursed him to an eternity as an undead monster.

As fast as Landrin's new body was, his speed and power was no match for that of the elder vampire. The older creature easily sidestepped his attack and sent him reeling with a blow to his side. Plaster cracked and crumbled to the tile floor of the hall when Landrin's body struck the wall.

Landrin was amazed and terrified of the speed and power with which this other vampire moved, but he refused to submit or run from him. This
thing
took away his life and cursed him with something far worse than death. The least he could get from this battle would be a proper death. Landrin picked himself up off the floor and prepared for another assault. He charged forward, bent on enacting his revenge on this foul creature or achieving his own end.

“Stop,” the elder vampire softly commanded.

Despite his burning rage and overwhelming desire for revenge, that simple, single word immediately arrested his charge. All he could do was stand there as he dropped his hands to his sides in supplication.

“Interesting,” the vampire mused. “I guess that warm-blooded rabble interrupted me prematurely. I really had no interest in creating another lesser servant, especially a male. I have one already I can hardly tolerate. Now I must decide if I wish to destroy you or keep you.”

The vampire slowly circled the mind-bound bard. “What do you think I should do? Go ahead, you may answer.”

Landrin gritted his teeth in impudent fury. “Kill me. Do it quickly because if you give me even the slightest chance, I will kill you.”

Landrin watched the vampire’s face twist in indignation at the temerity of the fledgling, and for a moment Landrin thought he would get his wish. Then the vampire looked away as if listening to someone speak.  The creature nodded and returned his attention to his captive.

“No, I think I shall keep you with me. My master thinks your minor grasp of magic may be improved upon and you can be of use to his plans.”

“No! Kill me or I will destroy you, I swear it!”

“Not likely. I created you. Therefore, I control you utterly until I choose to release you. You will do precisely what I say when I say it, or even think it. If you do not…”

Landrin dropped to the floor, writhing in agony. He felt as if every nerve in his body were on fire.

“My name is Eldon VonTrellin, but you will refer to me as master. Now, pick yourself up. You will find suitable clothing in the bedroom you just came through. Consider it yours, but know you must retire to the catacombs beneath the house before the sun comes up. Now go.”

Landrin regained his feet and processed what Eldon just told him. He could throw himself out into the street and let Solarian’s cleansing rays purge him of this affliction. Perhaps then he would find his peace in death and join his god in the afterlife.

 The vampire spoke even as he thought this. “You shall not cast yourself away. My master has plans for you, plans that are years in the making. However, such is but a blink of the eye for such as us. Go now and do not entertain such foolish thoughts again.”

Landrin wanted to deny this monster. He wanted to disobey him and tear open the heavy curtains of the bedroom the instant the sun broke the horizon, but all he could do was say, “Yes master,” and do precisely as he was told.

CHAPTER 1

Azerick and Rusty stood nervously outside the great double doors, knowing that just on the other side lay at least two hundred people just waiting for the sorcerer to appear—and most of them were hostile. He gripped his staff firmly in his hand, reassured by its presence despite knowing it would be useless against what faced him in the chamber beyond.

“It’s all right, Az,” Rusty reassured his best friend. “I have your back.”

The sorcerer swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and pushed through the doors. The assault was instantaneous. His entire body shook under the massive sonic onslaught that struck him with the force of a strong wind. Azerick felt defenseless. Despite being surrounded on all sides, it was the figure awaiting him at the far end of the massive, vaulted chamber that nearly dropped him to his knees.

Lady Miranda looked so incredibly stunning dressed in dozens of layers of white and light blue silk and lace that Azerick could no longer even hear the horns that blasted throughout the cathedral. His legs seemed to carry him forward of their own volition, almost floating above the golden carpet in a semi-dream state. The golden rays of the sun streaming through the majestic stained glass window of Solarian’s temple bathed his bride-to-be in an aura of angelic radiance.

Azerick was amazed at the number of people in attendance. Every bench was packed to capacity. Even King Jarvin sat firmly wedged between his wife, Duchess Melina, and Prelate Howarth, the residing Lord of Brightridge. The ranking nobility would not be so tightly seated had Azerick not insisted that half the cathedral be reserved for the men, women, and children that worked and studied at his school. This of course was not well received by the nobles, which pleased Azerick immensely.

The young groom looked up at the enormous stained glass window set high in the wall of the steepled ceiling and spied a human form just on the other side, peering in. Azerick’s first response was alarm, certain that some assassin was set to kill him or worse yet, Miranda to make him suffer for some pain he had caused someone. His eyes adjusted to bright surface and recognized Wolf’s grubby face peering through one of the clear panes. The wildling caught Azerick’s gaze, flashed a bright smile, and gave him a thumbs-up through the window.

Azerick could not contain the laugh that came out as a strangled snort. His face reddened as everyone paused to look at him as if he had gone mad. Embarrassed, the sorcerer mouthed
sorry
to Miranda and the priest and begged him to continue.