The Sorcerer's Scourge by Brock Deskins Page A

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.
    “And I have spent the better part of the evening trying to convince Captain Bertrand that this is no simple attack by desperate men and is far more than he and his men are prepared to deal with, hence my coming to see you last night, Prelate,” Collin replied, which elicited a sour glare from the watch captain.
    “I am a little sketchy on the details,” the Prelate said. “Please explain them once more for myself and the Solarian’s Light.”
    Captain Bertrand took a step forward, cutting off the inspector. “A group of men snuck into Lord Henrick’s mansion and attacked the assembled nobles. It is my theory that Lord Henrick ran afoul of a powerful and audacious criminal element. This was obviously an act of retribution of some kind seeing as how it appears that nothing was stolen nor any of the wealthy attendees robbed of coin or valuables.”
    The Chief Inspector let out a breath of forced patience. He was a thin man and not much taller than the squat captain, but he held himself like a man of cunning and confidence. He pulled out a sheaf of papers with notes neatly written with a charcoal stylus.
    “Shortly after King Jarvin and the Prelate left Lord Henrick’s estate, two men and three women attacked the partygoers with their bare hands. Several witnesses attest to the fact that the attackers moved with inhuman speed and strength. A few claim to have seen one or two of them stabbed through the chest with a sword or dagger without any discernible harm.”
    “Hysterical nonsense obviously,” Captain Bertrand scoffed.
    “As you can see, the victims show wounds that look as though they have been mauled by bears or enormous cats.” The inspector shuffled through his notes. “There may have been three men involved, not just the two.”
    “How is that, inspector?” Samone asked.
    “A few witnesses state they were led outside by a man in a gold mask stylized in the image of a lark. He first appeared to be leading them to safety, but just as they reached a side gate, one of the assailants dropped out of nowhere, called him by name, and then killed the woman he seemed to be with,” Collin explained.
    “Did any of them recall the name he used?”
    Collin looked under the top page of his notes and answered. “There are a few variances but the most likely is Landrin.”
    Samone asked, “Do any of you know anyone named Landrin?”
    Captain Bertrand spoke up. “It’s not a common name but not unheard of. A city the size of Brightridge is bound to have a dozen or two men by that name.”
    Samone and the cleric, Brother Charles, began inspecting the bodies, making particularly close inspections of what appeared to be bite wounds. Samone looked at the mass of bodies and turned back to the inspector.
    “Are these all of the victims?”
    “Yes, twenty-six of the wealthiest, most influential citizens in Brightridge,” he answered in disgust.
    “It has to be vampires. What do you think, Charles?” the paladin asked the cleric.
    “I would say there is little doubt.”
    “I do not know much about such things,” Collin said, “but that was my guess, considering the