Zombies, Werewolves, & Unicorns

by Stephen D. Sullivan

  Both riders nodded. Only a dozen yards separated the three cavalry troopers from the gate when, suddenly, the great doors began to swing shut.

  “It’s a trap!” Santos cried.

  As he said it, werewolves sprang up from their hiding places on the parapet walkway. Many of the transformed monsters were indistinguishable from enormous wolves; others retained a hideous mix of human and wolf traits. A half-dozen wolfmen clutched shortbows in their feral claws.

  “Shoot!” hissed one of the damnable creatures.

  The wolfman archers fired as one. Their black-shafted arrows streaked through the air. At the last instant, Apollonia leapt forward, shielding her comrades from the hail of deadly shafts.

  The arrows struck the unicorn’s dappled body with a series of sickening thuds. Apollonia crashed to the ground, but stumbled to her feet once more.

  “Again!” hissed the lead monster. Stan’s heart nearly ripped in two as he recognized the voice and the twisted visage of his brother, Nikolas.

  Again, Apollonia leaped and took the full brunt of the arrow fire. Santos batted aside two of the arrows with his sword, but another struck him in the chest, and three more sank into his unicorn.

  “Go!” Santos wailed and he and Apollonia tumbled into the snow.

  Only a slender gap remained between the gates, but Stardust and Volstag didn’t slow. They charged headlong into the great doors. Stardust lowered her head, and her spiral horn gleamed golden in the dim light of the eclipse; Volstag brandished his ax.

  The pair met the huge wooden doors head on. Splinters filled the air, and metal groaned and snapped as the impact wrenched the gates from their hinges. Stardust staggered through the portal and into the snow-covered landscape beyond.

  Kyra and Rigel followed, dragging Konstantine with them. The last thing Stan saw as they exited Wolfnacht was Santos and Apollonia lying unmoving in the street, pinioned with black-fletched arrows. Werewolf archers jumped down from the palisade and began tearing at the bodies.

  Stan turned away, but the sights ahead appeared just as dire. During the blizzard, the Enemy’s forces—zombies, gaunts, ghouls, and creatures far worse—had found their way through the pass. Now the undead surrounded the village, blocking the riders’ escape. Konstantine turned this way and that, desperately seeking a way out, knowing that the werewolves would soon be on their heels once more.

  Dozens of zombies penned in the two remaining unicorns. The animated corpses staggered through the snow, feeling neither the cold nor the decay of their own flesh. More undead streamed down from the pass, which remained hidden in the blowing snow and eclipse-born darkness. To Stan’s frightened eyes, the stream of supernatural monsters looked endless.

  Volstag chopped down the first two zombies in his way; Stardust skewered another, tossed it into the air, and trampled two more. “Go west!” the sergeant called to Kyra. “Then circle south and back to base. If we ride directly east, they’ll catch us in the forest.”

  Kyra didn’t reply, but responded by cutting down a zombie blocking their escape. Rigel charged westward, but the zombies’ attacks kept him bogged down in the snow. Konstantine held onto the warrior girl with one hand and kept a tight grip on his silver knife with the other. He seldom swung at their enemies, for fear of losing his weapon. Instead, he concentrated on keeping out of the way of the monsters’ attacks.

  “Gods curse it!” Volstag cried. Stardust surged toward Rigel, but she was nowhere as nimble as Kyra’s golden unicorn. Battering through the gate and her wounds from the search had taken a toll on the silver mare. The zombies pressed in around her, and the faster-moving gaunts slashed at her flanks. Even Volstag’s lighting-quick ax couldn’t fend off every attack.

  A knife-wielding gaunt leapt forward and gouged a long cut in Volstag’s thigh. The sergeant grunted in pain, as the dagger skidded off his leg and plunged into Stardust’s side. The unicorn wailed in agony.

  “Volstag!” Kyra shouted. “Stardust!”

  Just then, a pack of werewolves burst out of the city and joined the attack. Volstag and his steed had lagged behind Kyra and Rigel, and the werewolves ran straight for the wounded unicorn.

  Spotting the enemy reinforcements, Volstag caught Kyra’s eye and hissed, “Don’t you dare stop, Private!”

  With a mighty roar, he swung his silver-bladed ax in a huge circle. The blade decapitated one werewolf and cut the arm off another. Five more zombies fell to Stardust’s hooves and horn, but the undead and the werewolves kept coming.

  “Gods of Mercy, help us!” Kyra cried. If the gods were listening, they didn’t respond to Kyra’s plea. Stan bit his lip so hard that he tasted blood.

  He kicked away a zombie clawing at Rigel’s side. Stan’s boot crushed the animated corpse’s face, and it fell back into the snow with a sickening splash. Rigel stomped two more undead into rotting jelly. Then, as Kyra sliced off three clawing hands, the golden unicorn sprang free.

  Suddenly, Rigel was on top of the snow pack, racing west along the wall, toward freedom. Few zombies stood in their way, and the unicorn batted those aside with horn and hoof.

  Behind them, the forces of the Enemy surrounded Volstag and Stardust and dragged them down. The sergeant and his mount kept fighting, even as the monsters tore them to pieces.

  “No!” Kyra cried, tears streaming down her face. “NO! Rigel, turn back!”

  Rigel kept running.

  As the echo of Kyra’s anguished cry died away, a hairy shape leapt from the top of the wall. The creature landed on Kyra and Stan, knocking them from Rigel’s back. The force of the blow sent the unicorn tumbling. The great golden steed rolled twice and crashed heavily into the palisade wall.

  The rider, the adolescent, and the monster landed hard. Snow burst up around them in a blinding cloud of frigid crystals. Kyra rolled to her feet, groping for her dropped sword; the werewolf rose quickly as well. Stan blinked and shook his head, trying to clear his vision. He stumbled toward where Rigel lay.

  “Don’t leave yet, brother,” the werewolf growled. A casual swipe of his claw sent Konstantine sprawling.

  Kyra grabbed her sword, but Nikolas lunged at her before she could raise it. He batted the sword from her hand and snapped at her face. Kyra ducked aside; the wolf’s slavering teeth missed her throat by inches.

  She drew her iron-bladed knife from her boot sheath and stabbed it deep into Nikolas’ gut. The wolfman howled with anguish, but he did not die. He swung wildly and his forearm crashed into Kyra’s chest, sending her sprawling.

  She landed two yards away, stunned and half buried in a snow drift. Nikolas laughed, pulled her dagger out of his stomach, and tossed it aside.

  “The power of Wolfnacht is stronger than unicorn magic,” he sneered.

  Desperately, Stan sprang to his feet. As Nikolas leapt for the fallen rider, Stan jumped between them. Kyra’s silver dagger remained tightly clutched in the Stan’s hand. He tried to bring the weapon around, but Nikolas smashed full-force into him.

  Something snapped inside Stan’s chest, and his body exploded with pain. The brothers crashed into the snow. The dagger slipped from Stan’s fingers, landing in the drift beside Kyra. Nikolas howled with rage, trying to rip himself free of his brother’s entangling body.

  Bleary-eyed, Kyra scooped up the dagger and lunged. Her thrust brushed past Stan’s neck and sunk into Nikolas’ chest, just below the left shoulder. The werewolf howled and staggered back, but, again, he didn’t die. He clutched the smoking wound, hatred blazing in his feral, red eyes.

  Stan suddenly realized that the undead had caught up to them during the fight. The zombies and gaunts surrounded them, waiting to feast once the werewolf had slain the rider and her foolish companion. Outside the circle, more undead shambled forward like an endless, rotting tide. Behind them came the werewolves of Wolfnacht.

  Stan collapsed in the snow, his strength exhausted, but Kyra staggered to her feet. Her blue eyes blazed as she stared at Nikolas. “Come on, then!” she gasped, the si
lver dagger clenched tight in her fist. “Let’s finish this!”

  “Yes,” Nikolas snarled. “Let’s!”

  Suddenly, Rigel burst into the circle of undead. He decapitated a zombie with his horn and trampled three more as he raced to his rider.

  “Come on!” Kyra cried. She leaped onto Rigel’s back and extended her hand to Konstantine.

  Stan reached out, his fingers brushed hers . . .

  Kyra seized him in her firm grip and pulled him onto the back of her galloping steed. With a mighty leap, Rigel cleared the ring of monsters and landed atop the snow a half-dozen yards away.

  “After them!” Nikolas howled.

  Heart pounding, Stan glanced back at their pursuers. The zombies were no match for Rigel’s speed, nor were the other undead. The werewolves were much faster, though. A dozen of them, their fur matted with blood, raced after the unicorn riders.

  Rigel was bruised and scraped, and he limped slightly as he broke into a gallop.

  Can he outrun them? Stan wondered. As the walls of Wolfnacht faded into the snowy gloom, the howling werewolves drew closer to their prey—ever closer.

  Kyra unlimbered her crossbow and took careful aim.

  Twang! A silver bolt pierced the eye of the lead wolf and he tumbled across the snow, dead.

  A hopeful grin crept over Stan’s face.

  “Don’t smile yet,” she said. “There are more werewolves than I have crossbow bolts.”

  As she spoke, the landscape around them suddenly grew brighter.

  Stan turned his face to the sky. “The eclipse is ending!” he cried.

  The pursuing werewolves fell, a twisting heap of fur and contorting limbs. They screamed hideously as their bodies changed back into human form.

  “You prayed for a miracle,” Rigel’s deep voice rumbled. “Looks like you got it.”

  “The gods help those who help themselves,” Kyra replied.

  “Should we go back and finish them off?” the unicorn asked.

  Kyra shook her head. “We can’t chance it. Sunlight won’t stop those zombies from killing us, even if it does slow down the gaunts and the ghouls. Besides, Sergeant Volstag ordered us back to base.” She choked back a sob. “It was his last order, and I’ll be damned if we’re not going to carry it out.”

  Rigel kept running. After a time, his fatigue seemed to lessen and his pace evened out. Stan slumped against Kyra, every muscle in his body aching, his brain afire with horrible memories of everything they’d been through during the past day.

  Just as he began to drowse, Rigel cantered to a stop.

  “What is it?” Stan asked, blinking. After the gloom of the storm and the eclipse, the sunlight was almost unbearably bright.

  “We need to rest,” Kyra said, “at least for a moment.” She climbed down from Rigel’s back and stretched her limbs. Stan dismounted and did the same.

  They’d stopped in a small clearing in the lee of a stand of sturdy pine trees. The wind had blown the earth bare, here, and Rigel dipped his head to lick at the frozen grass.

  Kyra removed three strips of dried meat from her rucksack. “Want some?” she asked.

  “Sure,” Stan replied. She tossed the backpack to him, and he stopped to retrieve it.

  When he stood again, she had her crossbow out and a silver bolt loaded.

  He stared behind them, terrified that—somehow—they had been followed. “What is it?” he asked desperately. “Are they coming?”

  “No,” she replied in a soft voice. “Just a precaution. Are you all right, Konstantine?” She was gazing at his ribs, just below his left shoulder.

  Stan looked down and saw dried blood amid the torn fabric. A chill ran down his spine. “I’m fine,” he said. “It’s nothing.”

  The unicorn stopped browsing and asked, “When did you get that wound, Konstantine?”

  “I-I don’t know,” Stan said. “Sometime during the fight, I guess. I don’t remember.”

  “It looks like a bite,” the unicorn observed. “A wolf bite.”

  Kyra aimed her crossbow at Stan’s chest.

  Stan dropped her pack onto the frozen grass. “Kyra,” he said, pleading, “it’s me.”

  “Did he bite you?” Kyra asked, her voice flat and emotionless. “Did Nikolas bite you?”

  “I . . . I don’t know. Maybe. I was trying to save you. Remember? I saved your life!”

  “I know you did, Konstantine,” she said, “and I’m sorry.”

  “Kyra, I could never hurt you—or Rigel. I wouldn’t hurt anyone! I want to be a unicorn rider!”

  “I’m afraid that’s impossible now,” she said.

  “No it isn’t!” Stan barked. “I’m not like the rest! Even before you came, I wasn’t like the others! I didn’t change when they did! I’m one of you—not one of them!

  She pointed the crossbow straight at his heart.

  “Kyra, please! I’m your friend!” Tears streamed down his face and the blood pounded hot in his ears. “You said you’d get me out of this! You promised!”

  Rigel lowered his horn and prepared to charge.

  Stan slumped to his knees and sobbed, “You promised!”

  Slowly, Kyra lowered her crossbow. “I remember.”

  Rigel frowned at her and shook his mane. “This is probably a mistake.”

  “Time will tell,” the silver-haired rider replied. She stowed her weapon and climbed up on her unicorn’s back.

  Stan gazed up at her, and she held out her hand.

  “Come on,” she said. “We’ve a long way yet to ride.”

  * * *

  SAMPLES OF OTHER STORIES

  Here are some samples of other stories by me that you may enjoy.

  Don’t forget to read the “About the Stories” and “About the Author” sections that follow the samples!

  MONSTER SHARK

  ~ An Umira the Accursed Story ~

  Stephen D. Sullivan

  I. Treasure

  Sharks circled Umira, above, below, and on every side. Their cold black eyes gazed at the triton starwatcher, scrutinizing her scaly blue skin, her long green hair, and her glittering jewelry. Umira gazed back, her own black eyes trying to peer into their alien minds.

  Are we so different?

  Eyes, teeth, skin . . . all so similar. Both, feared and hated—outcast from civilized societies.

  We are alike.

  Despite their similarities, a chill of doubt ran through Umira. As a triton, she’d been around sharks most of her life, but she’d never faced so many at once, never a school this large or with so many different species: redfins, daggertooths, blues, hammerheads, and more. Mariners had named this place the Shark Keys with good reason.

  Had it been a mistake for Umira to come here? Would this decision be her last? Even with all her strength and skill, a school this size could tear the triton apart in moments. Would that be so terrible, though? At least then there would be an end. At least then she would know: there was no place in the Blue Kingdoms, either above or below the waves, for Umira the Accursed.

  Umira steeled herself, strangling the dark thoughts until they vanished into the depths of her soul once more.

  I will not die this day. Not unless I am stupid. Not unless I show fear.

  She kept her swimming movements regular and her heartbeat calm. She did not reach for the serrated longknives strapped to her hips. Instead, she forced every aspect of her body to send a single, potent message:

  I am not prey.

  Though Umira was neither mage nor telepath, the sharks seemed to believe her. They remained curious but respectful, keeping their distance from the starwatcher. Even the school’s sole ravager—a species of shark known to eat both human and triton—spared Umira merely a passing glance.

  Is this what it feels to be accepted?

  Umira focused her sea-born senses on the school, heard the water passing across their gills, felt their sinuous movements as waves of pressure against her scaly skin. She moved in harmony with them, but s
he still could not tell: Was this acceptance or merely indifference?

  She reached out and caressed the side of a passing redfin with her webbed fingers. The fish arched pleasurably under her touch. Its skin felt smoother than her own. Then the shark darted away into the azure distance of the middle depths.

  I am like them. More than I am like people.

  For a moment, Umira almost felt at home.

  WHOOMPH!

  Smothered thunder shook the deep. The entire water column quaked, and the sharks swirled in agitation. Some buffeted Umira, their skin scraping like sandpaper now. Umira gasped involuntarily. The school wasn’t attacking, though; they were confused, frightened. Umira felt the confusion, as well.

  The pressure, the sound, the sudden rush of cold from deeper waters, all dazzled the triton’s senses. Every instinct told her to flee, to swim away, fast, as her fishy brethren were already doing. Only Umira’s intellect overcame her panic. Once more, she strangled the fear inside, pushing it back into the deep recesses of her mind.

  In an instant, the rest of the school had vanished into the deep, leaving Umira alone.

  What just happened?

  A shadow eclipsed the bright disc of the ocean’s surface, many fathoms above. She looked up and saw the silhouette of a large ship cutting through the waves.

  People? People did this? How?

  As the waters calmed around her, Umira felt a slight tingling just below the surface of her scales.

  Magic.

  But from where? The ship felt alien, an intruder in her world. She felt the magic emanating from it, but there was something else, too . . . She peered down into the indigo depths, and noticed a faint glow that hadn’t been there before—not a reflection from the surface above, but something different, something that made her feel as though crabs were crawling across her skin: powerful, ancient magic.