Standing Before Monsters (Vorans and Vampires) (57 page)

Arrogance in the predator’s strengths, well beyond human now, convince it to attack again. It is a mistake. The clawed hand swipes across its chest tearing through bone and flesh alike. A back swing, as the predator stumbles back in shock, removes the head at the neck.

The heart is bared. It thumps, even as the body falls to its knees. The man calmly stabs the claws through a black diseased looking heart. Pierced, the heart stops and begins to burn. As the man steps back withdrawing his claws, the torso catches flame and soon the whole body is afire.

Knowing the creature is dead, the man steps to the edge of the building above the site of the kill. With a vampire’s corpse behind him, the man knows that the story may not be over. He jumps over the edge, but instead of injuring himself thirty feet below; the man seems to slow his fall. At half the speed he should be falling, the man touches down without harm.

He checks the woman and finds a ragged pulse. Taking a dagger from another sheath, the man cuts his hand and places it over the wound in the woman’s neck. His blood enters her wound. With a cry of pain, the woman wrenches her body from the pavement with a quick jolt. The wound seems to burn, though not the way of the vampire. The torn skin cauterizes and heals as if there has been no attack.

Falling back towards the alleyway floor, the woman fades back towards unconsciousness. The man catches the woman as she collapses backward. Checking her pulse again, he finds her heart strengthening. Apparently out of danger, the man pulls out his cell phone.

“Marek,” he states, “there’s a little clean up for you.”

It is not long before they come. The man, with his claws now hidden, waits for them on the roof. The vampire’s head sits on a furnace cap near the body’s remains. Burned near to ash, there is little left of the body and even much of its clothes are reduced to char. The man had found a wallet mostly intact. As the quartet leaps onto the building from the darkness, the man’s wallet is thrown to the leader.

“Recognize him?” the first man asks before the others can barely slow themselves in front of the ash.

“Leonard Newton? No, I can’t say that I do,” the man’s English holds the trace of something eastern European, but it is only slight. Years of practice have removed much of it since the two had met so long ago.

The monster slayer points to the head. “Someone in your clan may recognize him. He seems only recently changed, maybe someone didn’t finish a kill? You know your people can call me so we can avoid this sort of thing, Marek?”

“Of course they do, Nicholas,” he pauses, “if that is the name you still go by today.”

The man addressed as Nicholas smiles a half hearted glance in recognition of the attempted joke. “It is for now, yes.” Quickly returning to the matter at hand, he adds, “Do you think we have someone new moving into the territory? Maybe he’s just some loaner wandering in off the train or something?”

Marek shakes his head as he offers the wallet as evidence. “Chicago. He lives less than half a mile from here. If there’s someone new converting people, my crew hasn’t brought them to my attention.”

Nodding in answer, Nicholas responds, “Alert them to keep watch. We can’t afford to have someone creating feral spawn and leaving them to cause a mess we can’t hide. We’ve worked too long to keep your people out of the media to have some careless vampire exposing us now.”

The others nod.

A moment’s thought brings a new question from the vampire slayer. “How
is your stores of the blood holding up?”

“The clan should be fine with what we have for a month.”

“Good. I part with it to avoid this sort of thing.

“Did you bring a car or just fly over? There’s a woman down below that can be brought to a hospital.”

Marek nods. “Of course, we did. You said there was clean up. Jake parked a street north just in case. We can get her and the remains removed. I assume that you treated her in time?”

Sniffing in mock arrogance, Nick replies, “Don’t I always?”

A slight chuckle from the group precedes Marek’s friendly retort, “Well, you are getting older, voran. If you were just a human, you would be dust, so it’s understandable that you might start to forget things.”

“Humph, you better hope that I don’t get so old that I forget we’re friends, you silly old bat. I still remember the day I decided to spare the scrawny yearling hiding from its sire. As long as I am around, we can maintain the peace. If I were getting too old, we’d have to find someone else willing to prolong it.”

Marek sighs, “You are entirely too serious, my friend. We know your mentor still lives and she’s centuries older than you. Must you always head for the doom and gloom when we talk?

“Come, Nicholas, the night is still young and beautiful. Smile and join us later for a run across the rooftops. We can even keep an eye out for more trouble, peace keeper. That way you can even feel that you’re making a serious attempt at remaining serious,” the man finishes with a chuckle.

“Running with this lot will make me old before my time. You and your clan can play without me this time. Just make sure the woman gets to a hospital and make sure her memory is properly adjusted. There’s no sense sending the poor woman to an asylum on top of this.”

The quartet laughs. “You’re almost showing a sense of humor, my friend, but we will accept your refusal this time. Soon we must get you out here with us. It’s fun. You might actually like fun.”

Again the others laugh, but Nick is already cinching his long jacket tighter with his belt. It is getting colder even as winter was supposed to be relinquishing its hold. Some years Chicago just refused to let spring come and then it would skip to the heat of summer.

With a last parting farewell, the man, known as a voran, moves off into the darkness.

Battle Mage: A Tale of Alus

Chapter 1- The Difference

             
The sun shone down upon the courtyard through a thin haze of fog still stubbornly sticking to the mid-morning air. Finches and sparrows chirped and sang from the nearby gardens or as they soared over the ten foot walls separating the Court of War from the neighboring gardens. White Hall and its accompanying towers loomed to the south of the long courtyard throwing shadows over much of the grounds below. The Tower of War was dark against the morning light and its shadow nearly touched the base of forty foot protective walls.

             
Above the sounds of the birds, multiple clangings could be heard as sword met shield or sword on sword. In the Court of War more than a dozen men worked at perfecting their art. Four pairs of grey shirted men exercised their skills against one another as four older men in black coached or quietly watched their students at play. A thirteenth young man, also of the grey, performed a dance with his blade.

             
Wind flowing up Hill moved to the Bear stands Alone. Iron Jacket met Thrush from the Thicket. Maneuver after maneuver followed as he pictured his invisible opponent moving to counter his own. Back and forth he fended and struck. Press an advantage then retreat as the momentum shifts. Protect and attack. Force and defend.

             
Dark blond hair began to drip with sweat. The grey shirt darkened. Tanned arms glistened and his palms tried to moisten and make his grip tenuous. A shift of the leather coated handle scraped away most of the moisture and stiffened the grip as he shifted back to the better hold once again. Tirelessly the young man fought his invincible foe. His breathing came through parted lips as lungs called for more air.

             
Two of the pairs picked up towels to dab at damp brows as the men in black gave comment on their performance. Chuckling heralded some comments. Frowns followed others. The men walked back in White Hall through the small door at the base of the Tower of War. The other men continued work as a new trio, one black and two greys followed much the same as those before.

             
The other pairs tired. One of the teachers called a halt as a sword caught a shirt slicing the material cleanly. The young man with the torn shirt hugged his opponent briefly knowing he owed his life to the other who had barely pulled his swing enough to avoid killing his friend. The students and teacher spoke as they walked towards the little door and commented on what had gone wrong. The sound of blades clanging continued and a new pair came into the courtyard followed by their watcher before the last of the early morning groups retreated inside to contemplate their performances.

             
The thirteenth man shook his head free of sweat as it threatened to drip into his eyes. The invisible opponent smiled and backed the young man off with an invisible thrust that only the two could see. The dance went on.

             
A door opened in the eastern wall. The sun had risen nearer to noon. The grey dripped and danced without seeing three men looking in from the doorway. Quiet laughter and talking wafted in with the singing of finches and chirps of sparrows. One dressed in a white robe trimmed with red points spoke and the others laughed again. The grey saw only his opponent and the dance goes on.

             
The three are joined by a fourth. His trim is also red like his freckled cheeks. He comments on the grey and is again greeted with laughter. Stepping further through the doorway, the freckled blond chants a short phrase and conjures with his hands briefly before thrusting his palms at the ground. Dust rolls quickly in a small ball straight for the young man in grey.

             
An explosion of dust jumped up nearly at the feet of the swordsman. The grey stumbled and spit dust. A hand wiped at the dirt stinging both eyes as laughter carried to a now attentive young man.

             
"Ha ha, Sebastian," the young wizard called jeeringly to the half blinded young man. "You call yourself a battle mage? What good is all this training if you can't see, boy?"

             
"Magnus, you jerk!" the boy in grey snapped and sheathed his weapon into plain, leather scabbard. "You just ruined my exercise. I hope that you're proud of yourself."

             
The man in white glanced to his friends with a smile and replied, "As a matter of fact, I am. You know something though, I just don't get why you so-called battle mages need such a nice courtyard to play in. I mean really, the real soldiers don't have these kinds of courts. They go outside or behind the kitchens or something, but here we real mages have to hear all your banging back here day after day and for what I ask you? This could be a pretty nice garden if we let some of our nature and earth mages in here. Sounds good actually." He turned to one of the others with a blue stripe instead of red. "Make a note, Linus. I think maybe Arrimus or Mishael might enjoy the challenge, don't you?"

             
"Like the founders would allow you to do such a thing, Magnus," Sebastian replied with a frown of annoyance. Both students knew that the young wizard was just making idle threats, but the comment still rankled.

             
The wizard shrugged, "Maybe not now, but one day they'll see that your kind aren't worth all this effort. After all, it's not like you're truly in a wizard's class. A real mage could shatter those little swords of yours and any wimpy magic that you can barely force up. By the gods, I just don't understand why we have to put up with you all.

             
"I say let's put you where you'll do some good. The infantry or maybe just the cooks. What do you have to say about that, Sebastian?"

             
With a look of calm that nearly dripped with ice, the man in grey answered firmly, "The history of the last eighty years would prove you wrong. It was the battle mages and soldiers protecting you wizards that even let you survive long enough to use your fancy magic. We have our own. It’s quick, effective, and has killed a lot of the Dark One's creatures over the years."

             
"Bah, that's only partially true and besides any real soldier can say that much. Bring on a horde of kiriaks or armored viles and it’s the wizards that you'll be crying to save you all."

             
The other student battle mages and instructors had stopped and taken note of the conversation. Frowns ringed the group as they slowly formed up only a few paces behind Sebastian. The grey shook his head. "You regular wizards need us lowly battle mages and the soldiers as much as we need you. That's the whole point of White Hall, isn't it? This school isn't just filled with wizards or soldiers. We have a little of each type of soldier and wizard here so we can learn to appreciate each type and learn to work together."

             
"Oh, peace and love for everyone," Magnus clasped his hands, tilted his head and fluttered his eyes in a girlish manner as he sang out in falsetto. "Bah!" his voice dripped with scorn as he continued, "Save it for someone who can't see the truth. I would wager my magic can defeat anything you can ever muster, Sebastian. Shoot we don't even need soldiers to fight for us when we can create our own from thin air." The mage's hands came together like he was holding a two-handed sword and suddenly a flaming blade shimmered into being. "Come on, Sebastian. You've been practicing all morning. If you're any good, you'll prove me wrong."