Free Target Of The Orders (Book 3) by Ron Collins

sorcery to create a new breed of magic.
    Screams echoed through the woods.
    Trees bent in the wind.
    Then it was over.
    Garrick lay on the ground, gasping for breath, spent and unable to raise his head off the ground. It was dark, so dark. His cheek pressed hard against dirt and leaves. Hunger burned through his body. Braxidane’s whisper was a bare breath that he couldn’t decipher. Life force hung free over the woods, but he couldn’t move and the hunger merely twisted inside his gut.
    A footstep crunched a few feet away.
    Elman’s voice bled into Garrick’s conscious.
    “That was an impressive display, Garrick. But now you will die.”
    The Lectodinian's tone said Elman had been hurt, but had somehow managed to fend off the brunt of Garrick’s attack.
    Elman spoke soft words of magic.
    A sick green light flared about Garrick. His chest constricted. He tried to move, but could not. Faces from hi s past flashed into his mind.
    I’m sorry,
Garrick thought. He had done everything he could, defeated every Lectodinian but one, but it had not been enough.
    Standing above him, Elman spoke the final syllables of his spell.
    Blue flames burned in his palms.
    A shadow of movement flashed at the edge of Garrick’s vision.
    Will!
    The boy leapt from the brush, pulled the dagger from Garrick’s belt, and in one quick motion threw the blade.
    It whistled end over end before embedding itself in the Lectodinian’s chest with a solid
thunk.
    Elman clutched at the pommel, his spell fading, his voice gurgling in the darkness as he fell to his knees, then collapsed at Garrick’s feet.
    Garrick felt the sweet closeness of Will’s life force.
    This time Braxidane’s voice was strong and clear.
    … now you must take …
    He was too weak to deny his hunger, too weak to stop himself as he reached out for Will.
    But the boy understood instinctively what others could not grasp, and he scuttled away on all fours, tumbling into the brush at the periphery of Garrick’s vision.
    Good boy,
Garrick thought as his hand fell like an iron weight at his side.
    “Are you all right?”
    The smell of stale pipe tobacco crushed Garrick as another hand drew near. It was Arianna’s father, bending over him.
    Garrick wanted to tell the man to go away. Perhaps he even managed a grunt. But his hunger was too strong, and his tongue could not make phrases.
    Arianna’s father touched Garrick’s shoulder.
    He could not help but to drink, could not stop himself from feeding his need. Life force flowed through him, healing his twisted ankle and healing his burned body. He arched his back, drinking in deeply. Then he stood and reached for Arianna’s brothers.
    In an instant their energy, too, flooded into him.
    Then came more. The lives of Lectodinina mages burned as he inhaled them all.
    A horrified scream came from the house.
    Garrick turned, sensing even more souls. He moved without conscious thought.
    Candlelight from the doorway illuminated Arianna’s face. Her life force was pure and full, flavored with the familiar scent of strawberry. Her mother stood behind her, her essence robust and warm like the bread she had so often baked.
    Take them,
his hunger said in an intoxicated rush.
    And take them he did, understanding the foul extent of his actions even as he performed them.
    There is more,
the hunger called.
    From inside the house, Garrick sensed the pull of Shayla, Arianna’s youngest sister. He clomped through the doorway, struggling against himself with each step. The girl sat on her bed, her expression curious in the dim candlelight.
    Take her!
The voice inside him cried.
    He reached for Shayla, fingers outstretched and yearning. He clenched his eyes and set his jaw. His fists became tight balls.
    “No,” he groaned, and pulled himself away.
“No.”
    Slowly, his rage subsided, and his breathing came into control. Slowly, his surroundings came back into focus.
    He turned and ran outside.
    The bodies of Arianna and her mother were mere lumps