The Sorcerer's Scourge (17 page)

Bishop Caalendor looked pensive for a moment then answered. “Just over a week ago, there was a slaughter at a masquerade ball in Brightridge. A disturbing number of vampires murdered over two dozen of the city’s elite. A unit of Solarian’s light destroyed them, but only one survived and she declared the nest of the creatures eradicated. A few days later, a young lord by the name of Landrin Bailey called upon the King. Jarvin gave him lairdship of End’s Run. That was a week ago. Now we discover a dark power coming from the north that appears to be behind this undead infestation. A coincidence? Perhaps, but we cannot discount it. I met the young lord for moment before he departed and I did not like what I sensed. There was nothing I could put a finger on, but I cannot shake the feeling.”

“You think he is a vampire, perhaps from the massacre?”

“I recently received the full report of that night. One witness stated that one of the vampires addressed a man by name. Do you care to hazard a guess as to that name?”

Maude let out a deep breath. “Landrin.”

“Precisely. If he is truly a vampire, I should have been able to sense it straight away. There is a chance he was able to mask himself from my detection. Regardless, you must pass through End’s Run on this mission, so that is where I suggest you begin your investigation.”

“Is that all, Your Grace?” Maude asked, ready to depart the opulent but confining walls of the castle.

The cleric appeared to be weighing something heavy in his mind then spoke. “The only survivor, the one that declared all of the vampires destroyed, was Paladin Samone. She has been missing since shortly after the cleansing of the vampires’ manor house. I have reason to believe she rode north, likely to avenge her comrades. Please watch for her. She could be an invaluable ally and will need your aid as well.”

 “Do you have any idea what it is we are looking for, other than this Landrin character?”

“I do not, nor do I believe Lord Bailey is the source, if he is indeed involved or what I fear he may be. If he is, then you should have little trouble extracting information from him to point you in the proper direction. If he is not, then your wizard or Chosen should be able to detect the magical emanations from End’s Run better than I can from here. I wish I could give you more information and more help, for I truly wish for you to succeed in this mission. Failure could be catastrophic for us all. I must ensure the church is prepared for whatever may come should you not meet with success. Do not think I am being idle while you and your people risk their lives. I shall be working most diligently to cleanse this kingdom, and at no small risk to myself.”

Maude listened to the cleric’s words and believed he was sincere and not sending them off on another fool’s errand. “We should be able to leave first thing in the morning.”

Despite Maude’s assurance to Bishop Caalendor, she went in search of her crew with a deep sense of trepidation.  Malek was certainly engaged in some form of debauchery, it would take half the day to get Tarth to comprehend what she was even telling him, and the rest of the day would be wasted listening to Borik rant and rave about facing undead and all of the related hardships traveling north will cause. The snow would be too deep for dwarf legs, his beard would freeze solid and strangle him, and there would be no way to keep his beer from freezing into a useless block of ice. His complaints would be endless.

Maude steeled herself and prepared to divert her eyes as she knocked on Malek’s door. She pushed open the door when he called for her to enter and shielded her eyes with her hand as if looking towards the sun.

“Is something wrong with your eyes, Maude?” Malek asked from the across the room.

Maude braced herself and looked towards the sound of the voice. Despite all her preparations, she had not expected to see what Malek was doing. The handsome cleric sat behind a desk with a thick book open before him—and he was alone.

“Are you all right?” he asked. “You look unsteady.”

“What are you reading?” Maude asked.

“The Book of Illumination,” Malek replied, referring the holy book all clerics and priests used to study their faith.

“Are there drawings of naked women in it?”

Malek shook his head and smiled. “Despite what you think about my personal habits, I am a Chosen of Solarian and sworn to defend the people from his unholy enemies. I suppose you are here to tell me we are being sent on a mission.”

“Uh, yes that’s right,” Maude responded, still shook up from Malek’s normality.

“I had best pack some warm clothes. I assume we are headed far north.”

“How did you know?”

“I am a cleric, Maude, remember? I sensed a gathering of dark power and it seems to be emanating from the north. That is why I have spent the past several weeks in study. I am not sure what we will face, but it is certain to be extremely unpleasant.”

“Right. Ok. I’m going to go find Tarth now,” Maude informed the cleric, dazed by his unusually competent behavior.

Maude went in search of Tarth. It was clear day so it was a good bet he was somewhere in the enormous manicured grounds behind the castle. She inquired about Tarth from a guard out on the grounds and he pointed her towards a distant grove of trees. Maude knew exactly where he was now. Tarth was fond of a little spot far from the castle where small wildflowers bloomed.

Just as she thought, the unusual elf sat amongst a ring of summer blooms, braiding the small white blossoms into his hair. Every few moments, he would lean over the tiny brazier and inhale the strongly scented smoke released from the smoldering incense and herbs.

“Oh, hello, Maudeline,” Tarth welcomed his friend in dazed voice before she could hail him. “Have you come to take us north?”

Maude opened her mouth to ask how he could possibly know that, but the elf cut her off and continued speaking.

“There is a foulness in the air. Mystical energies are coalescing and an evil is stirring. We mustn’t let that happen. I do hate the cold. It dries out my skin terribly. I shall have to pack my good lotions,” Tarth vapidly told Maude.

“Tarth?”

“Oh, hello, Maudeline. How long have you been here?”

“Will you be ready to go tomorrow?” Maude asked, unsure how much of what the elf had just told her he actually heard himself.

“I shall have to be, shan’t I?”

 “Right. I’m going to go find Borik now,” Maude informed the elf.

 “I’m sorry,” Tarth replied as he took another deep breath from his brazier.

Maude strode purposely from the park and back into the castle. She had saved Borik for last because she knew he would give her the greatest amount of grief. Her best bet was finding him drunk so he would likely forget most of what she told him and by the time he sobered up, they would be well under way.

After making a few inquiries, she found the surly dwarf in one of the smaller studies eating some bread and cheese, drinking beer, and of all things, reading a book. Now Maude knew the world had truly gone mad. In the years the dwarf had been part the group, Maude had never seen him read anything other than a menu or a wine list. He did not even look drunk!

Borik looked up from his book as Maude entered the study. “Hey, Maude! What’s up?”

“Please tell me you’re not reading The Book of Illumination,” Maude pleaded, unsure if her heart could take such a shock.

“Heck no! I found this book of limericks. Listen to this one!
There once was a magistrate named Chester. A jury he did like to sequester. He picked one pretty lass with a big supple…”

“Not now, Borik,” Maude held up a hand and told him.

“I see. You have that ‘we have a mission and you’re not gonna like it’ look on yer face. Let me guess, we’re going north.”

“How…?” Maude sputtered, barely able to form a sentence, “Where did you come up with that? If you tell me you can feel some evil cloud thing going on in End’s Run, I swear I am going to go bash my skull in with a brick! What is going on here today! Malek is actually alone and playing cleric, Tarth almost made sense, and you are in here reading, sober, and not having a tantrum at having to go face the gods only know what. Not to mention, having some psychic premonition of where we are actually going! Again I ask, how?”

Borik shrugged his broad shoulders. “It’s the only damn direction they ain’t sent us off in yet. And it seems to me you’re throwing a big enough tantrum for the both of us right now.”

Maude took a deep breath, realizing that having Borik as the voice of reason was bordering on insanity. “And do you know what we will be fighting?”

“Something terrible I imagine. Probably undead, which I hate. But complaining about it only gets me drunk or drugged where I wake up on a ship or on the back of a horse with a terrible hangover halfway to wherever it is we end up going. It doesn’t keep me from going there, it doesn’t keep me from fighting for my miserable life, and it doesn’t damn well make me any richer. So let’s go do this thing and hope we survive it like we did the others. If not, well I guess that means I’ll be dead and be warming my toes next to Solarian’s forge until he decides to make me anew.”

“I…,” Maude looked upwards, trying to see through the ceiling to beseech the gods for clarity but found none.

   Maude left the dwarf to his reading, leaving behind his giggling as she made her way back to her room. Her group’s acceptance and readiness to face this new challenge left her deeply concerned. If the gods truly did twist luck to their favor out of a fondness for fools, would this new, responsible group still catch their attention? For the first time, Maude was truly worried for the success of their mission.

***

Deep within the fortress made of ice, stone, and bone, Zagrat toiled away in his laboratory creating his monstrous ragmen. The hobgoblin shaman had sought sanctuary in his master’s lair after those wretched humans drove him out of his home after they and the accursed elves had destroyed so many of his wonderful creations.

Varnath had been furious with his underling’s failure and the loss of so many ragmen. He had inflicted so much pain upon his miserable servant that fiasco. Zagrat shuddered as he thought back to those first few days of unending punishment. He was certain Varnath would kill him, and before his tortures were through, he even begged the lich lord to do so.

After that, Varnath relented and put Zagrat back to work creating his beloved ragmen. The lich refused to allow the shaman to indulge in his pet projects like the Hati creation. He desperately wanted to show Zagrat how superior such a creature as she had been and make more, but the lich demanded he focus on creating as many of the lesser ragmen brutes as he could. Later, when his master’s plan has succeeded, he would show Varnath how valuable the Hati construct was by capturing several hundred strong yet petite women and turn them into a flying army. With the right strength-enhancing spells, he supposed older children would work just as well. Possibly even better.

He felt the overwhelming cold wash over his flesh before he heard the lich speak as he finished his latest ragman. Zagrat hated the fact that he still flinched and tensed up in his master’s presence even a year after his brutal punishment. His knees trembled and his heart raced as he turned and looked upon Varnath’s desiccated form before averting his eyes.

“You have finished another one, I see,” the lich’s hollow whisper came.

“Yes, master. I continue to work tirelessly for you, as always,” Zagrat replied obsequiously.

Varnath looked at the shaman doubtfully. “How many ragmen do I have now?”

“Nearly a thousand, master,” Zagrat replied proudly.

“
Nearly
a thousand. You do not work tirelessly enough. I need more, shaman.”

Of course he needed more! He always demanded more. If Zagrat could make him ten thousand ragmen tomorrow, he would insist it was not enough and demand more! Would his work never be appreciated?