The Dark Lord's Handbook Read Online Free

opportunity to pass safely. Morden had snapped into a brood but it was as though Billard was too stupid to understand.
    “Look who we have here,” said Billard, planting his feet so that his enormous bulk blocked Morden’s way. “If it isn’t crow boy.”
    Morden hated that nickname. Though no one dared to use it now, when he had first come to the Bindelburg School for Young Masters and Prospective Brewers, it was one he had been labelled with almost immediately. His sharp features and straight jet black hair may have been reason enough for the name, but the truth was that it was the crows that followed him everywhere that were the real reason. He had grown accustomed to the crows; they had been there as long as he could remember. Wherever he went there was always at least one crow in attendance, sitting on a fence pecking at a snail, or flying above his head, like a dark angel watching over him. In the country it had taken a while for anyone to notice as there were always birds around, and even then they had paid no attention to it. It was common for certain animals to take a shine to a person. Milly the cow maid attracted mallards and Old Bill Plenty always had a badger not far off. Morden’s escort of crows was not remarkable.
    When Billard had stopped him, somewhere outside a crow had cawed.
    Then the fists had started to fly. Morden had shielded his head as best he could and took the beating. He had clutched at the medallion around his neck instinctively, as he tended to do in times of stress, the miniature dragon quite distinct in its feel, and calm had settled over him. Curiously, the beating hadn’t hurt much at all and the lack of pain allowed him to take in exactly what was happening. Later he would sit in his lair and brood upon it and this time dark fruit would come from the brooding. Previously he had brooded in an undirected fashion but in this instance he had a serious subject to brood upon: the idea of doing violence on a fellow.
    It was a matter of will.
    Billard inflicted pain to no end other than to make his peers fear and dislike him. He had no will to inflict real pain. He was a child playing at cruelty; he had no idea what real pain was or what it may achieve.
    Morden had gone to Billard in the dead of night. He had taken Billard’s finger and bent it over until he could feel it snap at the knuckle. Morden’s free hand had stifled the screams and he had whispered what he would do the next time if Billard ever gave him cause.
    The next day he had sought Billard out. The bully had held his hand and flinched when Morden stopped to speak.
    “Follow me,” Morden ordered, and Billard, Mjecki and Kronker did so.
    He had taken them to his room, and sat them on the floor and brooded at them for a while. Then he had done something new. He had bent them to His Will and made them His.
    He had realised that all Billard wanted was to have attention, feel important, and inflict pain. Mjecki and Kronker were far from home and lived in Billard’s shadow to be safe. Morden could offer each of them what they wanted and in return have their unswerving loyalty.
    Until then, Billard had been a hazard to be navigated in school life. With Morden’s guidance he became a brief and violent reign of terror. Cuffs around the ear were a forgotten luxury next to bloodied noses, dead legs and vicious nipple twists.
    The weak were cowed and the strong found their footwear would mysteriously go missing or their clothes go pink in the wash. Everyone got the message that Morden was in charge, and the faster they recognised the fact the sooner life would get better for all.
    And with compliance came reward. He could get things most found nigh impossible. A chocolate for a sweet tooth? No problem. A kiss and fondle with Mercy the scullery girl? A suitable fee and she was yours.
    Ten years on, life was indeed good but the hollow in his being was still there; a hunger, a void that demanded satisfaction.
    “I’m going into