Forrest Wollinsky: Vampire Hunter [Book One]

by Leonard D. Hilley II

  “They are not easier!” Guise said, anger rising in his voice. He paced slightly, like he wanted to rush at me, but my size kept him from doing so. “You, boy, are quite insolent, making such assumptions. Your father should have taught you better manners.”

  I shrugged. “The baron seemed to suggest as much last night, too.”

  Guise glared at me. If he expected an apology, he wasn’t getting one.

  I shook my head and gave an even smile. “Taking gold from a master vampire is a disgrace to all vampire hunters, is it not? Nothing could ever persuade me to be bought by a vampire.”

  “Bought? How dare you make such an accusation,” Guise said.

  “What accusation? Just moments earlier you told me who was paying the bounty. I told you what he really is. So, you kill this werewolf and take the hide to the baron, he pays you. The baron’s a vampire. Did I miss something?” Such philosophic rebuttals were why several of my teachers had enjoyed talking at great length with me, and they probably missed my departure from the school. The brothers . . . they weren’t as impressed.

  Guise narrowed his eyes. I could tell he was struggling to find a solid reply, but nothing came quickly; not that I expected any fast retort from him based upon all of his previous conversation with me.

  “From the moment you both spoke, I recognized that you’re not from this region,” I said. “Your accent betrays you. What country are you from?”

  “Britain,” Wes replied.

  “You’re presently hunting near the heart of Romania, where there’s never been a shortage of vampires since the Impaler’s reign. And as vampire hunters, you’re tracking a werewolf? Perhaps you seek the bounty in order to sail back to your mother country because you don’t like being surrounded by vampires. But, there is one more thing I can tell you about this particular werewolf that might be of genuine interest to you.”

  “And what would that be?” Guise asked in a disgusted tone. He looked like he wanted to take a leather strap to me.

  “He’d be far harder for you to kill than the master vampire.”

  The craziness in Guise’s eyes settled, replaced by a slight tinge of fear and hesitation. He was clearly uncomfortable, and Wes was even in worse shape.

  “Do we have a deal?” I asked.

  The studied me in silence for several minutes.

  “Look at it this way,” I said. “You could request a meeting with the baron and find out whether I’m telling the truth about what he is, if you still have a sliver of doubt. Simply insist that you wish to talk to him about the werewolf’s bounty and want to negotiate the terms. Surely he’d invite you into his chambers. Once inside, you’ll know the certain truth. Unless . . . you’re not seasoned enough to face such a vampire.”

  I could tell by Wes’ reaction that he didn’t want to undertake a visit with the baron, but my mocking challenge perturbed Guise, giving him a rise of anger. He probably felt it necessary to prove they could defeat the master. Regardless of Wes’ apprehension, he’d never let his brother go alone. Blind loyalty.

  “And after we bring you the ring, you’ll give us more details about the werewolf?”

  I nodded. “You bring me the ring, and I’ll know that you’re capable of facing the werewolf. Otherwise, there’s no need for me to send you directly into harm’s way.”

  Guise turned to Wes and said, “Let’s go talk to the baron.”

  Wes nodded, but I was certain that I heard him swallow hard.

  Guise pointed a stern finger at me. “You best not be withholding the truth from us.”

  I feigned an innocent expression, which is quite difficult given the downward shape of my mouth. “I’ve told you what I know.”

  He stared hard at me for a few more moments.

  I don’t think it crossed his mind how badly he was being duped. It never dawned upon him that if he killed the baron, who’d pay the bounty for the werewolf? No need for him to worry about a ring that didn’t exist because he’d kill the banker that held his potential reward.

  I never really felt bad about misleading Guise, but I didn’t like adding Wes to the casualties. But at the ignorance level Guise governed supreme. He wasn’t mentally adept to be a hunter because his actions to discern an ally from an enemy weren’t properly scaled. For the first few minutes after I had encountered them, I had thought my own life was in jeopardy, that he considered me an enemy, which indicated he was also a danger to innocent people.

  Perhaps Guise had suffered some head trauma during a war or when they had hunted down an actual vampire, but at least I had managed to get them off of Jacques’ trail for now. Besides, the true vampire hunters didn’t need the added embarrassment of having any association with Guise. He tarnished the reputation of what a vampire hunter should be. As they walked away, following the frozen brook, I wondered if it would be the last time I saw them. It was.

  Later I learned that the baron and his minions had torn them to shreds in such a way there wasn’t any possible chance to turn them. Apparently the baron didn’t want the humiliation of having Guise live an undead eternity inside his lair. But wherever Guise went, Wes surely followed.

  Perhaps even the baron detected the lack of stability Guise displayed.

  I held no internal struggle in sending the two hunters to attack the baron. After all, he had attacked my father first. I was merely offering a counterattack, which to all rights I was entitled, and from my perspective, we would now be even. And should they be successful and kill the baron, so much the better.

  But what I didn’t know for quite some time later was the baron had used these two hunters to his favor. Unlike he had failed trying with me; the baron compelled them and drained vital information, and learned that I had been the one that sent them to kill him. The news made the baron detest me even further. I became his mortal enemy that he was determined to destroy, which was probably the real reason he had butchered them. His fury toward me was something he couldn’t contain and torturing them with agonizing death, helped release his pent up rage.

  Even though I had betrayed the two hunters in favor of protecting my family; being young, I had never properly weighed the consequences. Doing so had been a costly mistake, one I had not anticipated. One for which would change and haunt me for as long as I lived.

  Since the traps were empty, I spent a half hour trudging along the bramble edge of the creek, scaring out fat rabbits that gave us food to last several more days. Then I slept, but not peacefully.

  Chapter Eight

  Two weeks passed before my father finally opened his eyes for the first time. He was weak, frighteningly thin, like a skeleton with wrinkly skin stretched over the bones. Momma had only been able feed him spoonsful of broth and herbal tea while he had slept, but never too much at any given time. When we helped him sit up against the headboard the first thing he did was demand solid food.

  His beard was combed and neatly trimmed. Momma had fussed over him like a daily ritual, singing softly to him and holding his hand, seldom leaving his bedside.

  Momma rushed toward the hearth to fix him a plate.

  Luckily the snow had receded and a trader’s wagon was able to bring wares along the road that cut near our cottage. I traded rabbit and raccoon hides for a large block of aged cheese, a stale loaf, and some yams. We had a deer roast cooking on a spit in the hearth from my morning hunt the day before. Momma sliced off a hunk of the meat and brought it, some cheese and bread, and a small cup of wine.

  Swallowing his first few bites was difficult, as his throat muscles were constricted from lack of use. He nearly choked a couple of times. But his hunger pushed him forward. I knew that I ate a lot, but I’d never eaten with such a ravenous smacking display.

  Pulling a chair to the side of the bed, I watched my father eat. In so many ways I was thankful he had survived and now was awake. I had questions, lots of questions, but I didn’t believe it appropriate to ask them so soon. I wondered how much he remembered of that evening when he had dragged himsel
f home, almost dying outside our cottage door.

  He smacked sloppily as he ate.

  Momma brought him water after he finished his wine.

  His eyes brightened as he looked at her. With a mouthful of food, he asked, “How long have I been asleep?”

  “About sixteen days,” she replied.

  He stopped mid-chew, stunned, and shook his head in disbelief. He tried to move his legs and couldn’t.

  “Easy,” she said. “They’ve a lot of healing yet to do.”

  “They’re broken?” he whispered.

  “Severely,” she said.

  Father glanced toward me. “I imagine you helped me inside?”

  I nodded.

  “It’s good that you’re such a hearty young man,” he replied, slowly chewing the remaining food in his mouth.

  “Jacques was here,” I said.

  He turned his head sharply toward me. “Whatever for?”

  I looked toward Momma.

  “You’d have died had he not come,” Momma said softly.

  “But how did he know I was injured? Or where we even lived for that matter? He’s never visited us here before,” Father said.

  “He told me that you’re blood brothers,” I said.

  “Did he now?”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “And did he fill your head with any other senseless rubbish?”

  “John!” Momma said sternly.

  He waved her off and glanced toward me with a cold hard stare. “Well, did he?”

  Regardless of my incredible size, I immediately became childish in manner whenever he gave me that stern look. There was something about a father’s hardened stare that makes a son revert back to his inner child. I was almost fearful to reply, as he seemed to be at some sort of odds with my cousin, something Jacques had never hinted about. In fact, the conversation I had with Jacques had indicated quite the opposite, that they were close like brothers.

  “Come along son, tell me. Out with it.”

  “He told me what I am destined to be,” I replied with a slight cringe.

  Father took the edge of his bed sheet and wiped his lips. He picked away crumbs that rested upon his beard. “And what are you destined to become, young man?”

  “A vampire hunter,” I replied. “Like you.”

  He shook his head. “No, not like me.”

  “You’re not denying it, are you? You know. It’s why you gave me the blessed dagger.”

  “You showed Jacques the dagger?”

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “And how did he react when he saw it?”

  “He was careful in how he handled it.”

  “I suppose so. The blade is silver. Silver harms werewolves. I suppose he revealed that to you as well?”

  “He revealed he was a werewolf. He said nothing about the silver.”

  Father halfway grinned. “Jacques spoiled the surprise, did he? What a rotten rascal our cousin can be.”

  My inner tension lessened, seeing my father refrain from his faux anger. I nodded toward my mother. “I suppose so, but Momma told me, too.”

  “Oh, so now the two of them told of your birthright? In cahoots, are they?” He ruffled my hair and gave a broad grin. “And they allowed me to miss it! Oh, Olivia, I’d have loved to seen Forrest’s face when he first heard the news.”

  Momma sat on the edge of his bed and took his hand. “You very nearly died, John. Were we not supposed to tell Forrest?”

  “Olivia,” he said, “Jacques was correct in telling him. I should have done so already. What’s done is done.”

  Momma smiled. “According to Jacques, Forrest stood his ground against Baron Randolph right outside the cottage that night you almost died.”

  Father’s eyes widened and his mouth gaped. “The baron came here?”

  I nodded.

  He pushed himself forward, but his legs prevented him from moving.

  “John,” Momma said. “You’re in no shape to get up. You’ll only injure your legs worse.”

  “Has the baron returned?” he asked, glancing toward me with desperate eyes. “Since then?”

  “No. He hasn’t. I’ve checked the snow for tracks each morning. I don’t sleep during the night. I sit against the door with the wood ax.”

  His pale face was covered with sweat. He looked at Momma. “My hunter box. Get it.”

  I reached beneath the bed and dragged out the box to save her the agony of trying to lift it. The box was quite heavy. I set it on the edge of the bed. The mattress sagged beneath its weight.

  “These are tools I need to explain to you, Forrest.”

  “I’ve looked at them each night while I sit against the door.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Do you know what each is for?”

  “Most all of them. I stopped holding any of them after the first night.”

  “Why?”

  I explained how emotions and impulses washed through me, almost demanding me to head out in the night to hunt the vampires.

  He took one of the wooden stakes from the box and handed it to me. “Here.”

  I was hesitant to accept it because of the hunting impulses that had plagued me from the first time I picked it up.

  “Take it. Make sure you have it when you’re sitting at the door each night. An ax can be a great weapon, but you have to have a lot of room to make an accurate swing. Stakes are weapons used in close proximity and easily concealed.”

  I took the stake from his hand.

  “Getting any premonitions from it?” he asked.

  I was, but not as strongly as before. Perhaps it was due to it being daytime? I nodded.

  Father nodded and glanced toward Momma. “He’s a true vampire hunter like we suspected. You’re better prepared than I, son.”

  “Jacques told me that I’d have pre-knowledge and guidance, which is how I interpreted the information given to me when I held each weapon and tool in your hunter box.”

  “Yes, it’s something I wish I had been blessed with. It doesn’t help your fighting abilities because those are skills you have to practice to hone, but sometimes you get insight to a person’s aura to sense their worth and true nature. Some, I’m told, get forewarnings against setups or baited traps. When the baron came here, what did he want?”

  “He wanted me to allow him to finish killing you.”

  “What stopped him?” Father asked.

  I shrugged. “I stepped in front of the door, holding the wood ax and told him to leave. Jacques had yet to announce himself to me. He was in the trees near the woodpile. Jacques believes the baron didn’t attack me because of the dagger.”

  “So the baron knows about the knife?”

  “He never saw it. I think he sensed the power of the witch’s runes. He tried to compel me, but he couldn’t.”

  “He never attacked you?”

  I shook my head.

  “And why did the baron leave?”

  “Jacques produced a blinding light that disoriented the baron. He fled immediately afterwards.”

  “That old trick?” Father said, smiling and shaking his head.

  “You know how he did it?”

  He nodded. “Did he have his silver cane?”

  “He did.”

  “Jacques has a medallion on a chain around his neck. Whenever he strikes the tip of the cane to the medallion, it produces that reaction. He got them from an alchemist years ago.”

  I frowned. “You said that silver harmed werewolves. How does he hold the cane?”

  “It’s not silver. It’s a metal discovered south of the equator. Much sturdier than silver actually and lighter.”

  “May I ask you something, Father?”

  He nodded.

  “Did you seek out the master and try to kill him?”

  He shook his head. “No, son, I’m not that foolish.”

  “Could you tell me what happened?”

  He looked at his legs for several seconds. “I don’t having any pressing plans.”
/>   “So you’ll tell me?”

  Father lifted his plate covered with crumbs and handed it to Momma. “Most certainly, provided your lovely mother will bring me a hearty second helping. More of that venison, if you don’t mind, my dear?”

  She smiled. We were overly happy that he was awake and hungry. But I was also happy for selfish reasons. I wanted to know what had happened to bring my father into the presence of the master vampire. I needed to know. Jacques had told me to study my enemies. My father held a firsthand encounter. Perhaps in his rehashing of the events that had unfolded, the baron’s weaknesses might be exposed.

  Chapter Nine

  Even though we were modestly poor, as were all of the other forest inhabitants, my father was a man who maintained proper etiquette in diction, in dress, and in his manners. If not based upon his wealth, he was an eloquent statesman to a fault.

  Of course, that was before he had suffered two weeks of constant sleep with only broth and tea as sustenance. Now his eating manners had become porcine. Never had I seen this man devour food with such drive, loud smacking, and any disregard for proper eating utensils. The sounds coming from him disgusted my mother, and I have to admit, even myself.

  Reflecting back on it, though, I believe his stomach had hijacked his brain, commanding no pause in ingesting as much food as possible. After all, he was a man that had nearly died, not only from the physical mêlée against the vampire, but afterwards, he almost wasted away due to starvation.

  Father ripped a huge corner of the loaf with his teeth and chewed. His cheeks bulged, but that didn’t deter him from adding bits of cheese as his chewing decreased the size of the bread.

  I waited.

  I’d have never understood a word he said while he chomped such huge bites. It was finally after his third full plate when his eating enthusiasm waned. He still looked like a skin-stretched skeleton, other than his immense bloated stomach.