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Drasmyr Book Page
Category:
Fantasy
Publisher: Smashwords
ISBN-10: B008M2I0WI
Type: Fiction
Pages: 360
Copyright: Feb 9, 2012
Price: FREE! (eBook)
In a world of wizards and vampires, a clever man may make a fortune. But hunting the undead is no small task, as Coragan the bounty hunter will soon find out; he must pit himself against a creature so old, time itself bends knee. And the cost of such courage just may be his soul.
We vampires do not make easy prey. Our weaknesses are few, our strengths many. Fear is something we do not know, and death but a distant memory. So tread softly, pray to your god, and gird yourself with silver when the moons arise and night’s dark prince awakens. We fear not the wizard, nor the warrior, neither rogue, nor priest; our strength is timeless, drawn from darkness and we know no master save the hot lust of our unending hunger. We long for blood, your blood and no blade, nor spell, nor clever artifice, can keep us long from our prize. Feel our teeth at your throat, your life ebb from you, and know as darkness comes to claim you that the price of your folly is your everlasting soul.
***
In Drisdak, the city on the Sea of Sorrows, the citizens have much to dread. Unease and foreboding have always been associated with the local wizards guild; peasants have an innate distrust of magic and those who use it. But now, something else is on the rise. A mysterious fire at the guild has left two men dead and a third missing. A small matter, you say? Well, one of those men was the guild master, and his successor wants to know what happened to him. Enter Coragan of Esperia, the renowned bounty hunter. If anyone can unravel this mess he can. But is even he prepared to challenge the horrible evil that lurks at the heart of the mystery? An ancient vampire by the name of Lucian val Drasmyr.
Excerpt
There’s a woman in chain mail standing across the room from me; her sword is leveled at my chest. I can smell the enchantment on the blade, it’s a strong one; maybe even strong enough to cause me harm. Still, I’m not too concerned; it’s at least a ten-foot lunge and I know I move faster than she does. Indeed, she’s the one who is looking worried. My display of strength and the death of her comrade have shaken her resolve.
She’s got a pretty face, flushed with excitement but strong and in control. It is her neck that really draws me, though, so soft and inviting, filled with the warm blood I desire. The curve of her flesh glistens, waiting for a well-placed gentle kiss.
She’s breathing rapidly now, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Her trek up through the castle has sapped much of her strength. And the fear she feels is naked in her eyes. Now, she’s getting ready to pounce, just a little too much tension in her stance, her eyes just a little too focused. She couldn’t give me more warning if she were to ask my permission first.
She moves in with remarkable speed, her blade striking out like a serpent’s tongue. Even winded, she still manages to cut my cape, then prances away with her back toward the wall, ready for anything. Anything, except me.
I close the distance and with a clean sweep of my hand knock her sword clattering across the room. Stepping forward, I place myself between her and her weapon. What will she do now, I wonder? Oh, the dagger. That’s good. There’s no enchantment on that one. Not much good that, even if she could grip it well in her bloodied hand.
I laugh a little, loud enough so she can hear me, exulting in the terror I see contorting her features. She’s backing toward the door, looking for escape.
I move toward her with the speed of my kind. My hand closes over her wrist and with a quick snap, the bones are shattered and the useless dagger is sent to the floor. Vainly she flails at me with her other hand. Despite the pain in her wrist she is trying to pull free. In desperation, she brings her knee upward in a fierce jab. If I were a man, I’m sure I’d be on the ground right now. Unfortunately for her, I am no longer a man.
Her struggles are growing weaker. Perhaps the pain or the fear is wearing her down. She collapses on the ground. Her helm falls to the floor with a loud metallic clang and her long, golden tresses drape down to shroud her face. Reaching down with a lover’s touch, I cup her chin and raise her eyes to mine. Tears stream down her cheeks, sparkling in the moonlight. She’s really quite beautiful with a face befitting an angel; it is a great irony that she should fall to a devil such as I.
For the first time this evening, I speak. “Well, intruder, did you not know there is a penalty for trespassing in my lair?”
“Please, please, let me go,” she begs. “I’ll never come back, I’ll do anything you want.”
“Then tell me why you are here. Who sent you?”
“We came for the sceptre.” She glances askance at the crumpled ruin that was once her companion.
I nod in the dead man’s direction. “Yes, perhaps you can reach him. Perhaps you can take the wooden stake from his chest and drive it through my heart, thus ridding this pestilent world of my accursed presence ... and perhaps I will rip your arm off if you try. Now answer the question, my dear. Who sent you?”
The naked terror in her face highlights her beauty. For a fleeting moment, I am loathe to wreck such a delicate flower. Indeed, it is the irony of her reply that seals my decision.
“It was Arcalian ... the mage. Please ... I don’t want to die.”
A warm, almost human smile crawls across my lips. “Don’t worry, my dear, you won’t.”
A brief flash of relief evaporates from her face changing into the gruesome horror of realization as I lunge for her throat. My teeth pierce her neck, freeing a flow of warm, sweet blood. As I feed her body goes limp in my arms and her struggles cease.
Time passes.
She is very nearly drained and quite ready. A quick movement of my hand and my left breast is exposed. Another slash and a gentle trickle of rapidly cooling blood is flowing down my chest. I gaze at my victim. Her breath is coming in ragged gasps; a moment more and she will expire. Ever so slowly I pull her to her knees before me. With my hand behind her head I pull her up and force her lips to my breast. She murmurs a weak protest, but her will, as her blood, is all but gone.
I whisper softly in the woman’s ear, “Drink, my love, and the pain and the weariness shall pass from you forever. I know you are thirsty, my love, I know you hunger. I can ease your suffering, your unendurable torments. Drink, and you shall cast off this paltry existence, this mortal shell of such feeble constitution and you shall become as I: strong, immortal, invincible.”
A moment passes before she begins to suck on the wound. I feel the blood flowing from my chest. As time slips away her strength begins to return. The flow from my chest grows stronger and I am forced to restrain her. At long last, she is finished and I lift her in my arms. Several long strides take me to the old bedchamber. She can rest here for the remainder of the evening. It may be several nights before she can hunt on her own, and I have other business to attend to.
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