Chapter One
(The Children of Lubrochius)
Korina marched down the lightless corridor, her pace quick, yet measured. A simple incantation she had learned long ago gave her the ability to see in the dark. With it, she saw everything—not as she would if there had been a light, but with equal clarity. The spell provided a special kind of vision of blues and greys and shadows that after years of use she had become quite adept with. She saw the tiles of the ceiling with their ancient mosaics covered by centuries of grime. She saw the long-bare sconces that lined the walls, their cold metal rusted from years of disuse. She saw the cobwebs that clung to everything, both the walls and the ceiling, hanging down in delicate, whispering strands. And she saw the dust that covered the floor; the trail of footprints she’d left the last time she had visited; and every other detail this place had to offer.
She came to a corner and looked back to make sure she was not being followed, more out of habit than real concern. Few, if any, people ever delved this deeply into the guild house dungeon when the guild house was extant, let alone now. The hall she walked in, probably had seen no one except herself and her lone servant for the past one hundred years. It had escaped the fire that had gutted the guild house simply because it was buried so deeply in the earth. It had been built some time in the distant past; if she gave ear to the rumors she often heard, these catacombs were all that was left of an ancient temple complex, one built before the coming of the wizards to Drisdak, before there ever was a guild in the city at all.
She turned the corner and continued forward several more yards. Ahead, the passage ended at an old, wooden door, swollen and rotted; like the ceiling before, webs covered it from top to bottom. From appearances, it looked as if it had not been used in centuries, but she knew better. She drew to a stop before it, waved her hand, and uttered a word. A shimmering passed beneath her fingers, a pop echoed in the stillness, and the door creaked open.
Korina slipped into the room and closed the door behind her. With a gesture, she lit a torch in the sconce on her right and ended her vision spell; then, she made another perfunctory wave to seal the door, fastening the lock in place with a click.
Secure now, she took a moment to take in her surroundings. She stood in a dust-filled storeroom with heavy wooden crates stacked against the far wall, covered by an old, ragged linen. More cobwebs crowded around the corners of the chamber, and ancient, moldy stains marred the stone walls.
But, like the door, all that was just for show.
Korina planted her feet apart, made several rapid gestures in the air with her hands, and chanted a short rhyme in an ancient language. Now, the entire chamber seemed to shimmer. The linen-covered crates pressing against the far wall dissolved in a liquid cloud of running colors. The cobwebs thinned and vanished, the dust disappeared. Even the stains along the walls faded into nothingness as the true contents of the room emerged.
A flat obsidian altar covered with a black cloth appeared slightly offset from the center of the chamber. Two silver candleholders formed on either end of the altar, each one holding a long, white candle. Over on the right, near the center of the wall, a small stone table bearing a collection of magical accoutrements sprang into existence. In the southernmost corner, a bronze brazier appeared and immediately began to burn. Next, mystical runes spread across the floor. They first revealed themselves as flickering, flashes of orange light which then solidified as etched carvings in the stone. The runes ran in two circular patterns, one five feet across, the other nearly ten. The larger one completely encircled the altar.
Korina moved across the room to the table near the wall. More mystical runes encircled the top of the table carved into the stone with the flowing precision of calligraphy. The spells the runes contained helped preserve and protect what lay there: a small bulging leather pouch, two small pottery jars—one grey, one black—four pieces of white chalk, and a ceremonial obsidian knife stained with dried blood.
Korina retrieved the grey jar from the table, and unscrewed its lid. It contained a fine, white powder: ground diamond dust. Korina dipped her fingers in, letting the tiny granules adhere to her soft skin. She rubbed her fingers together to feel the grainy texture for a moment, then gently brushed the dusty powder back into the container and replaced the lid.
I don’t need to invoke the circles, she thought. Not with this. She reached into the folds of her robe and withdrew another small jar. This jar, about the size of two fists and shaped like the lower half of an hourglass crystal, bore gems of alternating colors—red, blue, green, white, yellow—running in parallel lines from top to bottom. Runes of power etched across its surface sealed it with a potent magic designed to contain and hold the creature within, a creature that had once terrorized the entire wizards guild and much of the city of Drisdak.
Lucian val Drasmyr.
The vampire.
Simply by holding the jar, Korina could feel the power emanating from it. It was no toy. The most powerful wizards of the guild had worked for days weaving magics and enchantments strong enough to ensnare the creature. Even with all their preparations, the vampire had nearly succeeded in breaking through sixteen binding circles before Guild Master Regecon, the chief sorcerer at the guild, finally completed the imprisonment spell and banished the vampire to the nether-spaces within this jar.
Korina lifted the item and studied the way the various gems on its surface refracted the light. The jar had been a desperate gambit in a time of turmoil. Due to her great talents and incredible gifts with sorcery, Guild Master Regecon had assigned Korina the task of constructing the object. It had been an honor and a privilege. And an opportunity. Unbeknownst to the other sorcerers of the guild, Korina, knowing the vampire was beyond her power to control for any extended period of time, beseeched her demon god, Lubrochius, to construct the jar on her behalf. She then fabricated a second container, identical in appearance to the first and imbued with a few minor enchantments. After the creature was captured, she switched both objects. The guild sent the second jar into the river in lieu of the first, where presumably the vampire would have met his end. And the real jar, vampire and all, she kept for herself. Now, some three weeks after the creature’s capture, she was in the ongoing process of trying to break him down, so he would accept her as mistress and master. So far, she had been unsuccessful.
Korina ran her fingers along the jeweled surface, and gently fingered a small white diamond inset in the black porcelain. As long as she held the jar, she could channel energy into it to inflict pain upon the vampire, but the creature was proving remarkably resilient. It had taken her worst and still remained defiant. Her fleeting victories hardly offered solace. As attempt after attempt ended in failure, her confidence continued to slip. The vampire, ancient and strong, was just too powerful.
Still, she had questions in need of answers.
After several moments of soul searching, looking for every last scrap of courage she could muster, Korina began to chant.
“By earth and water, fire and air.
By the powers of darkness, and despair.
I call upon one who once walked this land.
Servant of the Sceptre. Vampire, once man.
Drasmyr, I summon you.
Drasmyr, I call you.
Drasmyr, I command you.
You, Servant of the Sceptre, Lucian val Drasmyr.”
Another pop sounded as the jewel studded lid twisted of its own accord and jumped off the jar; it tumbled through the air and landed with a clatter at Korina’s feet. A thin tendril of grey smoke issued from the small opening revealed. The smoke grew thicker, turned to mist. It reached out across the room, stretching like the neck of a great serpent. It coiled down onto the cold, stone floor in the center of the room, and began to coalesce, assuming a shape not unlike that of a man.
Korina felt a twinge of uneasiness—perhaps she should have used the sorcerer’s circles. Even with the jar. Too late, now, she thought, as the misty form solidified in t
he center of the room. He has been summoned.
The vampire stood a little over six feet tall and had short black hair, a pale, clean-shaven face and cold, grey eyes, hard as steel. He wore a long black cloak which nearly dragged on the ground. For a shirt, he wore a rich red velvet doublet, laced with black and gold trimmings, while fine trousers of deepest black covered his legs. On his feet he wore the black boots of an elegant gentleman.
Korina nibbled her lower lip as she studied the vampire’s face. Many a woman would have found the creature’s looks attractive, and thus be led to her doom. Not Korina, of course. She stopped nibbling, and straightened. She was above such weakness.
“Well, Zarina,” the vampire said, “you have summoned me, again. Why?”
Korina pursed her lips. The creature insisted on addressing her as Zarina. She had corrected him twice now, only to be ignored or graced with a contemptuous sneer each time. He, apparently, believed that she was the infamous witch Zarina the Black returned a thousand years after her death, and no amount of argument, no matter how vehemently put forward, had yet to change his mind. It was a matter of verifiable history that he had known Zarina in her day, not romantically, but at least intimately. In fact, Zarina was one of the progenitors of the sequence of events that had ultimately turned Lucian val Drasmyr, feared general and servant of Morgulan, into an immortal creature of the night—and that made the vampire’s position all the more disturbing. Although the notion that she had capabilities unmatched by any other wizard alive pleased her, Korina could not help but feel lessened or perhaps overwritten by such a figure from the past. His contention threatened her very identity. Who was she, if not Korina Bolaris?
Annoyed, she exhaled slowly through her nose and managed a sneer of her own. Cupping the jeweled jar protectively in her hands, she said, “I don’t need a reason to summon you, Lucian. I can do so on my whim. You are my genie after all.” She forced a certain measure of bravado into her voice; she did not wish for the creature to know how nervous he truly made her.
“So you say,” Lucian said.
“You have been permanently bound to this jar,” Korina said, lifting the object slightly as if to emphasize her point.
“That is only a temporary state of affairs,” Lucian replied.
“Hah.” She laughed. “That is foolish. Not even you can escape from a prison constructed by Lubrochius.”
He looked at her doubtfully. “Are you now claiming to have the ear of Lubrochius?”
“And why not? You, yourself, keep telling me I am Zarina, his most devoted and trusted servant.”
Lucian flexed the fingers in his pale hand, and studied the long fingernails. After a moment, he looked up. “You are Zarina. But be that as it may, you do not compare in glory to your former self. At least, not yet,” he said. His voice was smooth and casual, yet infected with disdain. “Perhaps, someday you will grow in power and I might actually find killing you a challenge, but that day is very far away. I suspect I will have killed you … well, no … transformed you long before any such day arrives.”
Korina cleared her throat. She felt a cold knot of fear clutching at her stomach, again; it was hard to ignore. She sought power, at any cost, at any price. And she knew the path to power was one with risks. Toying with this vampire was one of those risks. If it escaped … she swallowed hard, forcing the fears out of her mind. Even Lucian val Drasmyr has limits, she thought.
She tried to appear nonchalant. “Well, you can dream about your own day of glory, if you like, but today is my day. I am the master. You are the slave.”
The vampire yawned as if bored. He began studying the creases in his hand again. “Once again, I am forced to ask you, Zarina: Did you have a reason for summoning me, or are we to banter back and forth all day?”
Korina ran one hand through her hair pushing it back behind her ear. There were a number of issues she wished to discuss with Lucian on a variety of topics; he had walked the world for the past one thousand years; no doubt he had accumulated much knowledge and wisdom.
Well, best to start with the basics. I need a better feel for him, she thought; then, she said, “Tell me, vampire, do you know much of magic?”
“I have never made a study of sorcery, if that is what you mean. My powers are sufficient as they are.” He folded his arms at his chest and tilted his head to the side. “I hope you have something more meaningful and interesting than that to discuss.”
“Then you know nothing of the subject?”
“I did not say that.”
“What, then? Tell me,” Korina said. This would be an excellent way to gauge his intellect and knowledge; anything she could use to evaluate him would be of inestimable worth.
Lucian sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “I know it’s a derivative subject. It traces its origins back to the most ancient discourses in philosophy.”
“Philosophy?” Korina said, incredulous. “Don’t be absurd.”
“True, the disciplines did part paths several millennia ago, but in the beginning they were closely connected.”
“What do I care about philosophy?”
“It has been called the sex of the mind.”
“I’m sure it has, but I still don’t care.”
“That’s your choice, of course,” Lucian said. “Perhaps a mind as limited as your own can only handle fairy tales with genies.”
Korina flushed slightly at the pointed gibe. He was, of course, referring to her reading habits when not engrossed in study. She lifted the jar slightly, and felt a powerful urge to punish him, but refrained. “You dare mock me?” she said, sharply, threateningly. That would be enough.
“If you spend your time reading silly fairy tales then you open yourself up to such. Really, an evil sorceress who spends her time reading about genies and princesses? Who ever heard of such a thing?”
Korina scowled, but remained calm. “It was only one book, Lucian,” she explained. “I read fanciful things upon occasion to relax my mind; I find it worthwhile as a diversion, nothing more. Besides, it gave me the idea to capture you, did it not? So I hardly call it worthless.”
“Why not devote yourself to something more constructive,” he said, gesturing with one hand. “Increase your learning. You told me once that philosophy, like mathematics, was a critical discipline that strengthens the mind, allowing it to see logical connections among disparate facts and derive grand truths from the most common observations.”
“When did I say that?”
“A year or two before you turned me into a vampire.” He cast a calculated, sidelong glance at her.
“You mean Zarina, then,” she said, ignoring his look.
“Yes. When you were her.”
“I’ve never found anything uttered in philosophy to be of any use. As a discipline, it is totally impractical,” she said, bringing her hands together in front of herself while still holding the jar. “I believe it was the poet, Saladius, who said, ‘There is no idea so profane, no novelty so obscure that some philosopher somewhere has not gilded it with the most exuberant praise and placed it on a pedestal to bedazzle even the most erudite among us.’ I have nothing against profane ideas in themselves, but to me Saladius did not seem far from the truth. Philosophy has always seemed to me to be a potpourri of random thoughts. It promises everything, but delivers nothing.”
“True, some philosophers have a way of wondering amongst the clouds, but there are others whose thoughts often offer profound insights on the mysteries of life.” He turned back to her, the corner of his lip twisting upward.
“Name one,” she said, her voice edged in challenge.
“Arisson of Grexia; I don’t agree with many of his doctrines, but he had a remarkable amount of influence in centuries past. There are others, of course; the world is replete with ideas.”
“Fine … what kernel of wisdom would Arisson of Grexia offer me?”
“‘The Ideal must be first and foremost in your thoughts, but always give common concerns that which the
y are due.’”
“And what does that mean?” she asked, annoyed with this turn in the conversation. It seemed like such a waste of time. But the vampire appeared fully engaged.
“It’s really quite simple,” Lucian said with a smirk. “It is all about setting goals for yourself and achieving them.”
“Please, explain,” she said, curtly.
“Basically, he is saying you should not limit what you strive for out of fear that it is beyond you; no, strive for the grand things, but recognize that such requires a great many more mundane steps to accomplish. From little things, great things can be built.”
“We have gone a bit off topic, I think,” Korina said.
“You asked about magic,” Lucian said with an arrogant sneer. “I told you what I know.”
Korina frowned. He had not told her much. Barely a smattering. Instead, they had detoured into a lecture on philosophy. Perhaps she needed to ask him more particular questions. She sifted through what she knew of Lucian. Most of his thousand years of existence were a mystery, except the last few years of his mortal life when he served the dark lord Morgulan. Thought of the dark lord brought her back to the main reason she was here today. “Tell me about the Sceptre of Morgulan,” she said. She knew much already: the sceptre was a weapon of tremendous power wielded by Morgulan during the course of many wars and battles fought over a thousand years ago. It had mysteriously disappeared immediately after Morgulan’s demise.
Lucian sighed as if surrendering to the inevitable. “The Sceptre of Morgulan?” The vampire locked his gaze with her, and smiled. This time he showed his pointed teeth. They jutted down from the roof of his mouth like the fangs of a wolf. “The wizard Arcalian was also interested in the sceptre. That interest got him killed. As you may or may not know, I have a history with wizards. Generally speaking … I win.”
The arrogant monster! He had lost to Regecon and the guild.
“I’m not interested in your boasts, vampire. I’m interested in the sceptre. Tell me what I wish to know.” A part of her doubted if she was ready for the knowledge the vampire might give her. The sceptre, after all, was an artifact of legend. It had destroyed armies. She longed for its power, but she knew that she must match its power with her own else it would come to rule her. An untrained peasant with a sword was as much a danger to himself as he was to others.
Lucian folded his arms beneath his breast and looked askance at the wall. “Ask your questions, then,” he said.
Good. He seemed willing to answer today. Where to begin? “You admit to killing Arcalian?”
“I have no reason to deny it, do I? Is someone coming to throw me in irons for it? Oh, they already have.”
“You were the sceptre’s guardian, correct.” It really wasn’t a question. She knew the truth of it without him answering.
He smiled. His grey eyes shone with a preternatural light. “What do you think?”
“I think you were protecting it, but I don’t know why. Morgulan is a thousand years dead.” If she could acquire the Sceptre of Morgulan, her path to power was assured. She would start with the guild, perhaps: The Serpent and the Crow was long overdue for a competent leader. Or perhaps the city itself? She could overthrow the count and his petty Council of Barons, set herself up as ruler … The possibilities were certainly enticing.
The vampire smiled his insolent smile. “Dead, you say?” he said. “So was Zarina.” He let the words hang ominously in the air while simply staring at her.
Her heart skipped a beat. She dared not ruminate about the implications of what he’d said, or rather, what he’d not said—the accusation that threatened her very sense of self. Not here. Not now. My name is Korina, she thought. Don’t let him unbalance you.
She pushed her doubts to the side. “So you’ve been protecting the sceptre for the past one thousand years. Do you truly expect Morgulan to return?”
“I did. Once,” Lucian said. “But Morgulan’s hiatus was only supposed to last five hundred years not one thousand. I waited. And he didn’t show. Now, of course, you are—”
“His hiatus?” she asked, puzzled. “What do you mean? He died, didn’t he?”
“In a way, I suppose,” Lucian said.
“Explain.”
The vampire shrugged. “No.”
She lifted the jar threateningly. “Explain.”
Again, the vampire shrugged. “He made a deal with Lubrochius. I was never fully privy to the details; I merely played my part. And he, like you, betrayed me.” His expression twisted into something malevolent and filled with warning, as if to intimate at the score he wished to settle.
She straightened, but did not overtly respond to the implied threat. She decided to return to her earlier query. “So, how does Arcalian fit into this? You and he had dealings before you killed him; that is obvious.”
“I performed a service for him, and he—at least for a while—repaid me.”
“What service?”
“I broke the former guild master’s neck and threw him down the stairs.”
“You killed Talamarius?”
“Yes.”
Disturbing, if true. This creature certainly had a way with wizards. “Arcalian first encountered you while he was searching for the sceptre, yes?” she asked, pressing on.
He nodded.
Excellent, she thought. “Save me the time of replicating his research, will you? Tell me where it is.”
“You don’t know?”
“Logically, it should be in your castle, Rahmin Muirdra. But where, precisely? And what traps protect it?”
The vampire gave her a paternal look, and snorted. “The sceptre is attuned to Morgulan. It will not function fully in anyone else’s hands. Not even yours. Questing for it would be futile.”
“I don’t believe you. You are just protecting it still.”
“Funny. Arcalian said the exact same thing,” he said, languidly. “Your historians have been lax in their scholastic efforts; or they are just lazy and not well-informed. Not a one of them in Arcalian’s search mentioned the Dennzi-burron tentacles.”
“Dennzi-burron tentacles?” she asked, completely puzzled.
“I see you are equally ill-informed,” Lucian said. “When Morgulan held the sceptre, two black tentacles grew from The Heart of Skulls—the large emerald at the base—and fastened themselves to his flesh. The Dennzi-burron tentacles enhance the powers of the sceptre in Morgulan’s hands. No one else can summon them.” The vampire lifted his hand to his mouth and yawned, deliberately. “Now,” he said, “I grow weary. Can we not adjourn our conversation until a later date?”
Korina frowned. Could he be telling the truth? Was she wasting her time in this pursuit? He seemed to be giving very specific details as if he related facts. “You have not satisfied me with your answer concerning the sceptre,” she said. “You say it is attuned to Morgulan. How was that done? How do the tentacles work?”
“As I said earlier, I am not particularly skilled in the magical arts. All I know is that the sceptre was made for Morgulan by Lubrochius, the Eater of Souls. If you wish to learn the secrets of its making, perhaps you should take it up with him.”
She lifted the jar slightly, and arched a single eyebrow. “Perhaps I shall. It is not so farfetched as you imply.”
Lucian said nothing at first. His tongue slid forward, licked the front of his teeth, and then retreated to the recesses of his mouth. He looked around the room. For several long moments, he remained completely quiet as if to absorb all that he saw and heard. Finally, he looked down at the floor and gently shook his head. “If you have Lubrochius in your pocket, you have no need of me. Why don’t you release me?”
“I think not,” she said.
“You are a stubborn, foolish woman,” he said, lifting his gaze to her. She met his stare with quiet strength, refusing to flinch or shrink away. A moment later, she realized her mistake.
His eyes, grey liquid pools, beckoned to her. She felt herself slipping in
to them, as if she were sliding down a steep, icy slope into a well of darkness and mysterious shadow. Grey light surrounded her, reached toward her with delicate, soothing fingers. She felt numbness spread along her body. It started at her shoulders and spread gradually down to her toes. Her head felt light, her thoughts, scattered.
She tried to shake herself and clear her mind, but her limbs, heavy and sluggish, moved as if stuck in tar. The jar in her hand burned and felt like a great lead weight. Her will drained from her, and her ability to manipulate magic faltered. She tried to look away, break her gaze from the vampire’s, but she could not. Terror began to mount inside her chest, but it could not be expressed. She felt the fear, but her heart thudded to a slow and steady rhythm as if being lulled into a slumber.
Looking at her intently, Lucian spoke. “Korina.” He breathed her name as if it were the lyric of a gentle song. Her true name. Not Zarina. Korina was too frightened and desperate to consider what that might mean. She could feel the vampire’s power enveloping her and she felt helpless to stop it. “I offer you a world of unbridled pleasures. A world where you can do as you will. Give me the jar and I will make you a queen.” His words soothed her, enticed her. Something deep inside her stirred at their touch, relishing their meaning.
The vampire reached out with his hand. To her horror, her own hand, still holding the jar, raised in the air as if to offer it to the vampire. He stepped forward and wrapped the fingers of one hand around her throat while reaching toward the jar with the other. She felt the pressure of his fingers on her windpipe and knew she was about to die.
But just as the vampire touched the jar, a small flash of light arced from the jar to his hand and a jolt of energy passed through him; he jerked back and hissed, taking his eyes from her if only momentarily. His hold on her faltered, and she immediately stepped away, channeling energy into the jar.
The vampire shrieked. Taken off guard, he staggered backward, giving her another few instants. She gathered her magic while the vampire, half-mad with pain, hurled himself toward her, flailing for her hand that held the jar. She pulled it back just in time and, with a flick of her wrist and a single word, put up a thick wall of burning flames between herself and the creature; then, she took two more steps back.
She felt his presence slam into the wall of fire trying to douse it. She could feel his will working to unravel her magic, and she pushed back, trying to drive him away from the spell. Their wills locked together, but his was hideously strong, far too great for her to subdue. His onslaught continued, unmaking her spell. As the flames began to fade, her back pressed against the chamber wall; she was out of room.
Rather than use another spell, she poured as much energy as she could into the jar. Howling now, the vampire staggered and fell to the floor in front of her. She maneuvered around to get some distance, and prepared to speak the chant to force the vampire back into his prison.
This dangerous parley was over; the creature must be chained again.
She opened her mouth, but his will moved to stop her. The muscles in her jaw froze. It took nearly all her concentration to loose her tongue. The vampire crawled towards her, eyes filled with murder.
Slowly, she began enunciating the Words of Banishing, sounding no louder than a whisper, at first, but growing in strength and conviction with every passing second.
“By earth and water, fire and air.
By the powers of darkness, and despair.
I cast back into bondage, you who once walked this land.
Servant of the Sceptre. Vampire, once man.
Drasmyr, I chain you.
Drasmyr, I bind you.
Drasmyr, I command you.
You, servant of the Sceptre, Lucian val Drasmyr.”
Panting from exertion, fury, and pain the vampire said, “Your will is strong, sorceress, but I promise you: I will escape my prison and you shall know my vengeance!” Then the magic took hold. The vampire’s form dissolved into mist. The mist swirled around in the air and flowed toward the jar in Korina’s hand, rarifying into a grey-white smoke before finally entering the small opening on top.
“That was close,” Korina murmured to herself. She took a deep breath to settle her nerves and reassert control over herself. Drasmyr was too dangerous to question unrestrained. Next time, she would invoke the circles. No more foolish mistakes like that! She lifted the jar to her face to make sure it had closed and sealed itself properly. The prudent thing to do would be to cast it into the river as originally intended by the guild and destroy Lucian val Drasmyr forever. But she was not in the mood to recognize the validity of prudence; a one thousand year old vampire offered too much promise. And besides it knew the location of the sceptre. She was not about to let that slip from her grasp, attuned to Morgulan or not. She reached up and traced a single rune on the outside of the jar.
“Drasmyr,” she said, “you are the serf, and I, the taskmaster. Soon … you will know your place.”
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Drasmyr (Prequel: From the Ashes of Ruin) Page 87