by Jesse Teller
“You look wonderful, Jetula. Have you tried something new?” Aaron spat. He held his sword and dagger up, moving them like the bobbing head of a waiting viper. “You have never looked so beautiful.”
“They don’t want you anymore. My plan to force you to crawl and beg is dead, all my grand plans thrown off by a vampire invasion.” She shook her head and snarled with half a face. “All that is left is to kill you, turn you, and watch you suffer from hunger and—”
Aaron leapt forward faster than a blink and sliced her thigh open. She howled in pain, and he laughed.
“Should have known you would still be alive. It takes the light of day to slaughter a vampire. But I promise you, whore, I won’t make that mistake again.”
She came at him with swinging claws, and he sliced a hand away as the other slashed his arm wide open. He screamed in agony as the pain blazed its way up his body like a searing flame. He looked down, gushing blood and feeling his stomach lurch. He looked away and back at her.
She cradled her nub of a hand and hissed. “Let’s go again.” She rushed him. He came to block late. Her claw flayed open his chest, and he howled in pain. He looked down, seeing bright blood, and he grinned at her.
“One more time,” Aaron said.
She nodded. “Let’s finish this.”
She came at him again, claws flashing as he watched. At the last instant, he dropped to a knee and slashed through her legs. She fell to the ground. He stood over her and laughed.
“Do you know what is so great about this, Jetula?”
She slapped the ground, fighting to escape him.
“I get to kill you again.” Aaron swung once then went back to the battle. There was still so much to do.
Blood and Poison
Dissonance began her prayer as they opened the door and entered the room. Drelis chanted. Rayph spat out a word that ripped a hole in the air and dropped his Ironwood sword in his hand. Four vampires died before Rayph could find them. Smear and Trysliana fought with a fluidity of movement Rayph found breathtaking. They all stepped out into a hallway, dozens of vampires walking the floor. Rayph heard Dissonance shout, and they stepped into hell and brought death to the dead.
Blood flowed, pooling the ground at their feet. Standing in puddles, they splashed through on their way to more death. They fought their way through two more floors, and the lay of the castle came back to Rayph.
Four vampires leapt from a corner, flying hands and feet at Drelis.
She spun, disappearing into smoke that billowed around them before she reformed a distance away. Trysliana stepped into the gap, ripping them apart. In seconds, they all fell screaming, and the Manhunters stepped over them as they climbed to higher floors.
Exhaustion rode Rayph’s body as he hacked down vampire after vampire. Lines of them formed as they reached the ninth floor of the main building, and the door to the main hall. Dozens of vampires, all armed and waiting, stood before them. Rayph struggled to catch his breath, then he lined his men up and marched forward.
Swords, clubs, axes and daggers came at him with a speed vampires were known for, and with a hate only the damned could possess. These were Tristan’s warriors, the men and women who were fighters before they were turned. He had waited until the final march to pull out his elite. Rayph waded in. He prayed for strength and speed.
From up the hall, a massive grinding noise filled the air, and they all looked up to see a mammoth stone monster stomping out before them all. Smear laughed and stepped before Rayph.
Dissonance prayed and went to move ahead of Smear, but he held her back.
“This is my buddy, Dissonance. I’ll see to him.”
Kat and Tristan stepped out. Tristan placed a hand on the head of the creature and grinned at Smear.
“We heard about Smear Kond, and we knew you would be a problem. See, the rest of them don’t scare us, but you have a certain reputation.”
“You obviously haven’t met my wife.” Smear looked at Rayph and shook his head. “They haven’t. That is the problem.”
“No, they have never met her,” Rayph said.
“When I take care of this little nuisance here, I’ll introduce her to you,” Smear said.
Tristan barked out a command, and the beast rushed forward.
“Smear, get down,” Rayph said.
“No, boss, I have it.” Smear turned at the last moment to run. He ran about ten feet before opening a portal to Ironfall. The portal opened at the drop off the cliff, and Smear jumped over.
Rayph’s heart stopped in his chest as the stone golem rushed headlong after Smear. It ran right over the edge of the cliff to explode when it landed, six hundred feet to the ground.
Smear pulled himself over the edge and crossed the portal back into the castle. He smiled. “As I was saying, this is Trysliana.” He extended his arm to them.
“I am strong now.” Kat snapped. She pointed at Dissonance. “I will enjoy you, my dear, but I don’t think I will drain you of your life. I think I will turn you and have you hunt down your order and bring them all into our embrace.”
“I will use your blood to strangle you, Rayph. I will drown you slowly,” Tristan said. “Letting you beg me for mercy before half-drowning you again. You have come this far only to find yourselves outmatched.” He spoke a word, and the blood drained from the bodies around him and lifted into the air. “So much power,” Tristan said with a shudder of ecstasy. “So much here to throw against you. So much death to rain down upon—”
“Finish this guy before I rip off my own ears to shut up his prattling.” Smear grunted.
“All of you on Kat. I’ll take the Lover,” Rayph said.
Tristan laughed and shook his head. “They are as children to her. I want you to listen while she rips them to shreds. I will keep you alive so—”
Rayph opened the air and gently unsheathed a long bone rapier. He swished it twice through the air and nodded. Kat screamed in rage, and Rayph saw Dissonance fly through the air out the corner of his eye. He heard a bone snap and Drelis cried out. Tristan chanted, and Rayph leapt forward, slicing him across the mouth. The blood mage gurgled and stepped back, holding his mouth as he retreated. Rayph turned to see Kat take Drelis’s head in her hands and snap her neck. Drelis fell to the ground, dead, and Rayph screamed. He turned back to Tristan, who rushed forward, hand outstretched. His mouth had been healed, and he strove to touch Rayph.
One slash with his sword severed the muscles in Tristan’s arms, leaving them to flap around his elbow uselessly. Sisalyyon screamed, and Rayph heard the cracking of wood. Sisa took a boot to the chest, and she flew back in a heap.
Trysliana stepped back, and the hall filled with fog. Tristan began laughing as Trysliana cried out in pain.
Smear stepped forward and nodded grimly to Kat. Her claws flew, but he sidestepped them. She slashed, and he dodged. Rayph heard her grunt in pain, and Smear remained silent, slashing softly with perfect cuts she had no answer for. No matter what she did, Kat could not find him, as if he were a mystery too complex for her understanding. Smear could not be touched, and Rayph looked away, back to Tristan, pushing Smear and Kat from his mind. He needed to concentrate, needed to trust his friend.
Rayph focused on Tristan, finding him easily in the fog. Tristan chanted, and the blood mist that now filled the room heated up. In seconds, it was a searing boiling nightmare, and Rayph could not breathe. Every inch of his body seemed on fire. He knew he would soon not be able to think. He found Tristan standing with head bowed in concentration, and Rayph stepped forward. His hands blistered as the heat of the blood flamed. He thrust forward, driving his sword deep in Tristan’s chest.
The blood mage cried out, and the air lowered in temperature. Rayph reached into his pocket, pulled out the strip of meat the little girl had given him, and he slid it against the bone sword’s blade, slicing it in two.
Tristan gasped, and Rayph broke the sword blade off in his chest. Trysliana connected with Kat, and the vampire scre
amed. Trysliana hit the ground from a strike that Rayph could hear break bones. The fog dissipated, and Kat smacked Rayph, throwing him back. He looked at his crew lying around him as Kat snatched up Tristan in her arms.
“I will turn him, and he will rule beside me in our undeath. I will feed your men to him, and he will be strong. You have not killed my lover, Rayph Ivoryfist, you have only angered him.” She bit into Tristan’s neck, and Tristan cried out in pain.
Rayph pulled Fannalis from his sheath and grunted. “Time for you to save me again, old friend.” The handle throbbed, and Rayph reached into his pocket, grabbing his vial of poison. “I gotta throw you.” He shattered the bottle and wiped the fluid on the blade. With the flip of his wrist, he threw his dagger into Tristan’s chest.
Nothing happened.
A breath and nothing.
Then Kat pulled back, screaming. Her face drained of blood as she wretched a gout all over Tristan’s dead body. She fought her way to her feet before spewing more blood. She dropped to her hands and knees and vomited again. Smear crawled to Trysliana. She was breathing, and he held her close.
Kat gurgled as she screamed and vomited blood. The floor filled with pooling blood, and Rayph gripped tight to Dissonance as Kat vomited her charge until she was pale and gaunt again. She collapsed. Blood rolled out of her mouth until her eyes glazed over and she was no more.
The Rite of Disposal
Dreark carried Drelis in his arms. It seemed to Rayph as if the man was whispering his goodbyes to her as they walked to the tiny shack in the Bilious Quarter. They stood outside the building and Rayph held back a sob. Trysliana, Smear, and Dissonance held hands behind him, their shackles binding them together.
Rayph looked at his own bonds and sighed. None of that mattered now.
The door was pushed open by a massive snake. The creature coiled at the door and hissed at them, and Dreark paid it no mind. He stepped over it and entered the darkness beyond. Rayph followed, the rest of his crew stepping in behind him.
They found the Mothers Smite standing around a tub with their heads down. Standing before them all, Revenge bowed her head, and the Pristine motioned for Dreark to lay her down.
He held Drelis to his mouth and kissed her forehead above the eyebrow before lowering her as carefully as a mother might lower her baby to its bath.
“She wrote an imprisoning poison when she was ten years old,” the Pristine said. “The poison was lethal, and it trapped the soul within a cage in another dimension. We saw Drelis’s talent then and we came to her. She was with our order for thirty-seven years. In that time, she crafted eighty-three poisons. Such a number is unheard of. Most of the Mothers Smite will craft one poison every four years, sometimes longer. But we can say with no hesitation that Drelis Demontser was not most.
“Her brilliance was unrivaled, her dedication to our order absolute.
“As a symbol of respect Revenge, second highest ranking poisoner on the continent, will destroy Drelis’s lab. There will be no sign of any unfinished product. No beaker will survive.
“Drelis had many devoted rivals in this coven, and we have chosen one of these for the rite of disposal,” the Pristine said.
Rayph wiped tears from his eyes and wondered if there was any way he could retrieve what was left of the body when the rite had been accomplished, but he doubted it. As a member of the Mothers Smite, Drelis’s body no longer belonged to her. Too many great potions had been written and too many elixirs had passed through her system to ever let an outsider claim her blood.
The gypsy woman stepped forward and shook her rattle. “As a sister who despised you, it falls to me to wipe you from the world. This I do in all respect and hate.”
Rayph did not like the sound of that at all, and Dreark shifted to his right, showing discomfort at the words as well. But they had been warned. They had been told if they spoke at the rite they would be killed immediately. Never had an outsider witnessed the rite of disposal before, and the Pristine had said many times that any fouling of the ceremony would not be tolerated.
The gypsy woman reached into her hair wrap and pulled out a vial almost too tiny to see. Indeed, so much of the bottle was covered by the two fingers holding it, the glass was but a glimmer of shine. The woman let a single drop fall onto Drelis’s body, and the spot the drop touched began to steam and hiss.
The edges ran, the skin giving way to the hiss of acid as the area around the drop began to dissolve.
The skin ran, the muscle bubbling. The dress Drelis had been prepared in was eaten away. The edges of the acid kept eating, never slowing as it devoured her.
Rayph realized it was like the slight embers that appeared when paper was lit to flame. Hairline embers devouring the page, like this acid ceaselessly gnawing at Drelis’s flesh and bones.
“The recipe for the disposal elixir was given to her at the age of ten when she joined us. When she provided us with it, I told my fellow sisters she was too young to master such a poison and her mixture would be wrong. I told all who would listen that when we stood here watching this poison work, we would have fibers left,” the gypsy woman said. “I was wrong though, and I admit it, for this acid is so fine that it shames any I have ever seen.”
Rayph could not hold back his tears as his friend dissolved to nothing. The horror of the fact that Drelis had made this poison herself at the age of ten was almost too terrible for him.
The body simmered and boiled until the entire mass had dissolved into a pure liquid much like water in sight, like blood in texture. The gypsy woman stepped away and the Pristine stepped forward.
She placed a jar under the drain of the tub and, with a light tug, released the stopper. The liquid drained with a swirl of a tiny whirlpool into the jar. When it was filled, the Pristine closed the lid and handed the liquid to the crone, who shuffled away with the rapping of her cane. Rayph stood there with his surviving Manhunters and he bowed his head.
Dissonance said a prayer as every member of the Mothers Smite slithered away. The warrior of Cor-lyn-ber spoke her prayer over the tub.
It was all they had left of Drelis Demontser.
Rayph commanded the coral into the sea, and watched as thirty-nine crews of pirates took to the water.
Toc-a-roc had decided they would travel by mundane means, giving everyone time to gather themselves after the previous night of destruction.
Dreark had survived all his men and mourned the lives of the fifty who had given themselves to him. He hung his head in the back of the caravan and cried.
“Say the word and I will free you with little more than a breath, Ivoryfist,” Saykobar hissed as they passed him on the street. Rayph shook his head, and Saykobar called him an idiot.
Hemlock lay in rubble around them, the air above her thick with the smoke of thousands of vampires burning. As they rolled out of town in chains, Rayph thought about the destruction, and he found little peace.
Epilogue
Black Cowl looked at the bustling traffic of the capitol city and scowled. Festival. Phomax had ordered a festival for the city for no known reason. The sounds of gaiety and music made Black Cowl sick to his stomach. He grinned at the woman beside him. He felt the tingle of his spell and could sense the approach of the royal entourage.
“Get ready,” he snapped.
The woman beside him was a blur of movement as she grabbed his hair and pulled his head down. She kneed him in the face and twisted him backwards. She moved two more times, faster than a striking viper, before he lifted into the air and dropped painfully to his back.
“Watch the way you talk to a Fury, male. I will not suffer your commands,” she said. Black Cowl fought for breath, then slowly rose to his feet.
He pointed in the direction of the coming entourage. “Lyndayathek, prepare. He is coming.” She smirked, and Black Cowl hated her.
She lifted her enormous bow from her shoulder, pulling an impossibly large arrow from her quiver. She drew the arrow back slowly and took a deep breath.
As the crowd of guards and assistants rounded the corner, she took a slow, steadying breath. Phomax came around the corner. Black Cowl opened his mouth to command her to strike when he saw her loose her arrow.
The startling devastation of a Fury arrow played out before him, slicing clean through the chest, heart, and back of the king, to strike dead him and the man behind him.
Black Cowl nodded and smiled. He opened a portal, and the two went back to the Tower of the Stain.
****
Seven Years After The Escape
They dropped the rowboat from the ship known as the Bone Reaper into the waters off the coast of Kes-tic. The captain counted the coins again to double check the exorbitant amount he was being paid to deliver this man to this land. The sum was right, and he shook his head, wondering what exactly was in that box.
The boat rowing to shore held the passenger, a shamble of a man with a fevered look to him and a long, white beard with smears of food and drink, wet with tears. The man’s hair was patchy with great red splotches where he had yanked out fistfuls.
Truth be told, the captain was glad to be rid of him, glad to be rid of his howling at night and his incessant pleadings with the one the madman had called The Ancient One, his oaths of service and his imploring for mercy.
The captain looked out at the jungles of Kes-tic and the wilds of the monsters that lived there. He shook his head. He did not even want to know what was in that coffin or how long it had slept.
Didn’t want to be here when it woke up.
The Manhunters, Book Three
Releases October 5, 2018
Crown Prologue
Six Years After The Escape
Rayph stared at the most terrifying building in the whole of the nation of Lorinth. He turned to Smear and Trysliana. “He is in there, and we are going to get him out.” His anger ruptured and ran like an infected wound, filling his heart and edging him ever closer to his temper snapping and his mind letting loose of all the power at his command.
