The Sorcerer's Scourge (7 page)

Eldon smiled at Filip. “It looks like you finally get to perform for the King, Filip.”

Landrin left the others to laugh and talk about the mayhem they would cause tonight. He felt the need to be alone and sought out one of the least used rooms in the mansion. There he prayed to Solarian for the strength to resist his master and somehow prevent the tragedy that was soon to unfold. As usual, he felt no signs of his prayers having been heard despite his hours of entreaties to his god.

Landrin felt sick as it came time to attend the ball. He donned the costume he found laying on his bed when he returned to his room. One of Eldon’s non-vampiric minions must have delivered it while he was praying for some kind of miracle that he knew would never come. There were several of them in the mansion, cooking, cleaning, and doing chores. Even after ten years in the house, Landrin did not know even one of them by name nor did he care to. They were drones, slaves with even less free will then he had.

The costume consisted of white tights and a gold doublet over a white silk shirt. A cord held a gold mask with the face of a lark in place. He found the others already gathered in the parlor. Filip was dressed in a veritable rainbow of bright colors and wore a silver performer’s mask. Eldon preferred an outfit of simple black, a scarlet vest, and a red demon mask.

As distasteful as the demon mask was, the women’s costumes troubled him far more. Jacinth, Karla, and Celina wore heavy black, hooded robes and faceless white masks. They were the three sisters of fate. The symbolism was not lost on him. The fate in store for the people at the party was too horrible to contemplate.

“Ah, just in time, Landrin. Let us all proceed to the party,” Eldon commanded and led the grisly group to the awaiting coach.

The ringing of the horses’ steel shoes upon the cobblestones sounded like the peeling of funeral bells to Landrin’s ears. He searched his mind for a way to work past Eldon’s compulsion and prevent the massacre that was going to happen tonight. Eldon sensed his inner battle and smiled at his futile efforts to thwart his will. By the time the coach pulled up to the mansion belonging to the host of the gala, Landrin had given up and simply rode the waves in the sea of despair that washed over him and tried not to drown.

Eldon stepped out of the coach and addressed his driver. “You may return the manor. We shan’t need the coach to return home.”

The driver gave Eldon a nod of recognition with his soulless eyes, flicked the reins, and disappeared into the night. The three sisters giggled and practically leapt about with barely controlled excitement at what was to come. Landrin trailed the group morosely, lost in his own despondency.

A liveried man at the top of the steps examined their invitations before ushering them inside. Eldon chose to be fashionably late, so there was already a respectable crowd milling about in a sea of fanciful outfits and masks. The masked vampires spread out immediately amongst the crowd. Landrin found a nook and tried to look as inconspicuous as possible as his growing anxiety gnawed at his soul.

Rumors flew from gossiping mouths like bees around a nest that the Prelate and King would be making an appearance. A game quickly formed of who could spot the notable guests first. Lords and Ladies continued to trickle in over the next hour. Both the King and Prelate were easy to spot, although Landrin did not know precisely when they had arrived.

“You seem to be rather thoughtful, My Lord,” a woman sidled up to him and said.

Landrin started at the unexpected company but calmed himself before replying. “I fear I have had a great deal to ponder today, My Lady.”

“Ah, I thought perhaps you were busy playing
spot the King
with the other sycophants so that you might get a chance to curry some favor.”

“Hardly much of a sport.”

“Really, do you think you have spied them then?” she asked.

“Indeed I have,” Landrin replied. “The one in orange and wearing the gold mask in the shape of a sun is obviously the Prelate.”

The woman followed Landrin’s eyes and saw the man amongst a small knot of people. “Oh yes, I see now. Then the man in blue and purple must be the King.”

“That is what they wish us to believe, but the King is in the drab green and brown next to him,” Landrin corrected.

“You seem awfully sure of yourself. How do you know this?”

“The crows always circle where the food is,” Landrin cryptically explained.

The woman looked at the four men dressed in black, each wearing the mask of a raven, and undoubtedly each a member of the famous Blackguard. “You have a very keen eye, My Lord. Are you a magistrate or some such?”

“Hardly, My Lady. Just perceptive.”

“Call me a sycophant, but I suppose I must go and say hello,” the woman said and started to leave.

Landrin grabbed the woman by the wrist and gently pulled her back. “You should depart this place, My Lady.”

The woman pulled her arm from Landrin’s grasp. “Leave, you say? Are you offering me a better night’s entertainment than the ball, milord?”

“As much as I wish I could leave, I cannot. But you should not stay,” Landrin tried to explain past his compulsion.

“I imagine my boredom will compel me to leave soon, but unless something better comes along, not just yet. Good evening, milord,” the woman said in farewell.

“Prelate Howarth, Lord Henrick,” Jarvin said to the two men next to him, “I appreciate the invitation, but I fear I am beyond exhausted from my traveling and shall retire for the evening so that I and my retinue can get an early start as we make our way home to Brelland.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. I completely understand. I am very grateful that you took the time to stop in at my ball, and I am sure the gesture is equally appreciated by my guests,” the man in deep blue and purple answered with a small bow.

“Allow me to escort you back to the castle, Your Majesty,” Prelate Howarth offered.

“I am sure my Blackguard can see me back. No need to cut short your pleasure on my account.”

“It is no problem, Your Highness. I am afraid the only crowds I enjoy are when they are in neat, orderly rows within my church,” the Prelate insisted with a small laugh.

The King and Prelate left with Jarvin’s Blackguard in tow as quietly and unobtrusively as they had arrived. The only one that seemed to note their departure was a handsome man hidden behind the mask of a lark.

Lady Sharleen went in search of a mirror to check that the mask she wore had not smudged her makeup for when they would all reveal themselves near the end of the festivities. She rounded the corner of the dim hallway and came upon a couple embracing in a shadowy doorway.

“Oh, I beg pardon!” Sharleen cried in surprise.

The man dressed in black with a crimson vest pulled his face away from the woman’s neck and looked at her with a smile. A scream of unbridled horror tore from Sharleen’s throat as the woman slumped to the ground with blood pouring out of the gruesome wound in her neck.

The terrified woman turned and ran back towards the ballroom as a second shrill scream preceding her down the hall. She burst out into the crowded ballroom, trying to form words as everyone stared at her trying to figure out what had made that awful noise. Her mouth opened and closed several times, and then she seemed to float a foot off the floor. A sickening crack echoed across the silent grand hall just before Eldon hurled the woman’s body into the crowd.

“Time to start the real party!” Eldon shouted, his face covered in blood and flashing his fangs with a hiss.

It took a full two seconds for the shock of what was happening to register in the minds of the mortals. The ballroom erupted in shrieks of terror as the men and women scrambled for the exits. Most people headed for the entrance from where they had entered only to find Filip and Jacinth blocking their egress.

The two vampires cast aside their masks and tore into the press of living flesh with their fangs and unnaturally sharp claws. It was chaos as the terrified mob tried to backpedal against those pressing at them from behind. Many of the men wore slender swords more for decoration than defense, but brought them out anyway.

One man managed to slip his blade between the press of bodies and stabbed Filip deeply in his chest near his right shoulder. With a hiss born more of anger than injury, Filip grabbed the wrist attached to the offending, weapon-bearing hand and snapped it with contemptuous ease. He then pulled the man close and tore out his throat with his fangs before flinging him aside and tearing into a woman who could do nothing but scream until his claws silenced her forever.

Seeing only death in that direction, the horrified crowd shifted like a school of fish and made for the glass doors that emptied into the gardens only to find Karla and Celina waiting and blocking their escape. The two vampiresses tore into the crowd with gales of sadistic laughter, reveling in the smell of blood and fear permeating the room.

Landrin could only watch the slaughter unfold as he battled his own nature. The smell of blood spiked an almost irresistible desire to feed and take part in the carnage. A body slammed into him and someone clung to the front of his doublet. He looked down and saw the woman he had tried to warn away looking up at him.

“Please help me!” she begged with eyes wide in terror.

Landrin started to shake his head helplessly, but with a force of will, grabbed her by the arm and pulled her towards a servant’s door obscured in a shallow alcove. Several people saw Landrin open the near-hidden passage and piled in behind him in hopes of escaping the nightmare come alive.

Landrin pulled his small group through narrow passages that eventually emptied into a large kitchen. He did not know whether to yell at the frightened staff to run or if they would be safer staying where they were. Seeing the terrified look on the faces of the nobles, most chose to run despite being oblivious as to the cause of the screams coming from the ballroom.

Landrin picked passages at random, guessing where a door might lead them outside. His efforts were finally rewarded as they burst out of a small side door into an herb garden. An ornate, wrought iron fence with a small gate leading to the streets lay just a dozen yards away. Just before the group reached the gate, Eldon seemed to drop out of the black sky and landed in front of Landrin, blocking their escape.

 “Delivering me a treat personally are you, Landrin?” the elder vampire asked mockingly.

Eldon grabbed the woman’s free hand, pulled her closely, and buried his fangs into her neck. Landrin could only watch helplessly as her eyes looked to him beseechingly until they closed, never to open again. The other men and women screamed in horror and retreated in different directions. Some ran alongside the outside of the mansion while others fled back inside the way they had come.

Eldon casually dropped the woman’s lifeless body to the ground. “Come, it is time to return home.”

Landrin looked at the dead woman for a moment then followed his master home.

***

Having received a magical summons by Prelate Howarth, Paladin Samone and her arm of Solarian’s Light rode through the night and arrived in Brightridge early in the morning of the terrible attack. Prelate Howarth personally led her and her companions into the cold, underground chamber of the temple where the victims of last night’s attack lay.

Several men were already in the room when they arrived. Numerous bodies lay upon stone slabs, although most were simply laid out onto the floor. Nearly all bore evident wounds, but a few suffered crushed skulls that were only obvious after a closer examination.

“Prelate,” a man dressed in the livery of the city watch bearing the insignia of captain addressed the de facto city leader. “I told Chief Inspector Collin there was no need to trouble you or the church. My guardsmen and I can handle this.”

The Captain of the guard was a slightly portly man and short with a bandy-legged stance as though accustomed to the saddle. Samone doubted he had ever ridden a horse in his life and was more likely to be found astride a barstool given the veiny redness of his bulbous nose.