Gunship - The Series

by John Davis

  “Halt!” a man cried, walking from behind a nearby tree with crossbow in hand.

  The stranger looked impoverished, as though he had not seen the basic Human comforts in many days. Still he stood there, his crossbow aimed directly into the direction of Roman Raines.

  “What business do you have here?” the man asked, as nearly a dozen more men walked from surrounding trees, each carrying either a large sword or man-slaying axe.

  “We slay Vampires, that is our business. Have we arrived among friends of the same purpose, or do the legends of such a city merely speak a lie.” Roman responded, turning to face the crossbow wielding man.

  “Liar! You are a Hunter yourself!” the man yelled.

  “Indeed,” Roman said calmly, turning his head a bit to view the remaining men as the snow steadily began to fall once more. “But I am of no threat to you. If it were the case, you and your friends would already lay in a pool of your own fluids.”

  The man continued to look at Roman, into the eyes of a warrior who knew of life after death, yet traveled with men.

  “You know it to be the truth,” Roman said. “We wish to eat, rest and then talk of an assault against the Hunters.”

  “You lie! To speak of such is to speak of suicide.” one of the other men cried out, his grip holding a one-handed axe.

  “To speak of suicide would be for another man to call me out as a liar.” Roman warned.

  As they continued to look Roman over, thick white hair braided down to the warrior's lower back, eyes nearly glowing as hot coals would, the man who held a crossbow nodded a bit.

  “You are the one everyone speaks of. The demon which hunts demons, are you not?” the man asked.

  “I am the demon who hunts Vladris. I seek to end his reign of terror, slaying with him the legend which follows. The rest of the dead Vampires laying in my wake have simply gotten in the way.” Roman said sternly, moments later grinning a bit.

  “Then yes, the tales of Marlock are true,” the man said, returning the grin. “Take them in at once! They are heroes among us!”

  And with that short, but fate-altering conversation, the warriors led Roman and his group into Marlock. Food they would have on this night, only the finest Marlock had to offer. For Roman's legend was growing across Roncia, having already reached the ears of such a secluded village and its warriors.

  “Bring him!” Sarah yelled, her voice anything but demonic as the Vampire queen sat in a luxurious throne of jewels.

  As Vladris entered her throne room, carrying with him a young man with bound hands, he tossed the baggage down abruptly.

  “Enough! No harm is to come to this prisoner,” Sarah said loudly, warning her finest Hunter. “If one of our own but splits a single hair on his head, you had better slay them in my stead.”

  “Yes my queen.” Vladris replied, not quite understanding her fascination with the young man, but daring not question her.

  “You will not be harmed. You have my word.” Sarah replied with a smile.

  And though the prisoner's face, which remained under the veil of a sackcloth bag, couldn't see the queen of Hunters; her voice sounded familiar to him. Almost soothing.

  “And that's when Roman sprung from the trees and together, we slew nearly a dozen of the bastards!” Gore said loudly, slamming a steel mug to the table.

  It was filled with a warmed brew. A drink similar to what humans considered ale, though it contained several herbal extracts as well. The people of Marlock considered it to have both healing and relaxation qualities; not to mention it would warm the bones of even the mightiest of warriors.

  “Your numbers are far less than I had expected.” Roman said with seriousness as the entire group, nearly thirty strong, looked back at him.

  “We were once very formidable, just as your legend speaks. But years of war against an enemy who outnumbers us so greatly has taken its toll.” Anthony replied. He had been the first to confront Roman's group hours before, crossbow in hand and served as leader of their people.

  “And this other group of warriors you speak of?” Roman asked.

  “Indeed,” Anthony replied. “They are out on a supply raid and are not expected to return for the duration of four more days.”

  “Four cold days.” Pica said, causing a chuckling-stir throughout the group.

  “We realized the Hunters hate cold. They will enter snowy fields to do battle as long as they understand it is temporary. So we dug in here,” a large warrior replied. His hair was a bit short, and fiery red at first glance. His faced was marred with scars of war, his eyes further speaking of their woes. “They know we are here. Yet they have been unable to break us in a single battle...and unwilling to stay for more.”

  “This is my first in command, Bral,” Anthony said. “One of the finest men you will ever meet, and even more so when it comes to combat.”

  “Then it is indeed an honor.” Roman replied, nodding to such a highly of spoken warrior.

  “I do not understand your travels with the Vampires' dog if you are indeed a slayer of the undead?” a man asked, speaking loudly as a two-handed sword lay snug to his back, strapped with leather bonding.

  “Four!” Anthony said loudly, scolding his warrior.

  “It is alright,” Roman said, staring hard at the sword-strapped man. “I myself do not understand it. From what I have learned along the way, the hellhounds marry themselves to the strongest of warriors. Scucca was by the side of Vladris when we first met, yet he left with me.”

  “Then you truly are a greater warrior than Vladris? If it is true, we may very well turn the tides of war!” Four replied.

  “Roman, I apologize. Four speaks out of turn.” Anthony added.

  “I understand his questions, and have one of my own. Why Four?” Roman asked.

  “Because, no matter who we face on the battlefield, he fights as well as their four best warriors.” Anthony replied.

  “Interesting.” Roman said.

  “So our plan?” Bral asked, always the one for strategy when it came to battle.

  “Spread the rumor of a great assault against the town of Bainson,” Roman said. “The Hunters will deplete their ranks to seek such a battle and defend the town. Then, we strike their castle with our best men. It will be defended, but they should not be able to hold us. We will reach their queen long before the Hunters dispatched to Bainson return.”

  “It is a solid plan. There are many humans who worship Vampires in Bainson.” Bral replied.

  “First we must rest for the night and finish filling our bellies.” Roman said.

  “Agreed, my friend.” Anthony replied, extending his hand to the Vampire which stalked his own kind. And with their handshake came a treaty of death to come.

  Sarah's favorite place throughout the castle wasn't the room that held her throne, which had been the favorite of so many before her. Instead, she found herself drawn to the room of archives. She felt compelled to find out as much about the Hunters as possible.

  And on this great day, the day of our Lord 4072, our army of undead faced its toughest. A small army on the planet of Ronica, led by their King and a warrior among their finest. A warrior which fights like no other our species has ever encountered. A warrior who has slain many of our kind, including four elite Knights dispatched by our very queen.

  Perhaps we have underestimated the will of humankind. The resolve of such an outmatched opponent. They must know of their inevitable demise. They must see the death and destruction around them. Yet this warrior of light gives them hope. Strength. Whatever the cost, whatever measures must be taken, this warrior must be ended if Ronica is to fall under our rule.

  Sarah continued to read through books which were inked by the hand of Vampires hundreds, possibly even thousands of years before her eyes skimmed the pages of the moment.

  Today our species did the unthinkable. Retreat from battle. With our numbers strong and our greatest elite, Graddon, on the battlefield, swift victory was sure to follow.r />
  Yet we were bested, Graddon falling gruesomely to this knight of light which wields a longsword. He is the one our own people have spoken of as an angel. Our queen has called him a glorified farmer, yet he has, by his own hands, killed hundreds of our kin. Members of our own species have even begun speaking of him as the devil, if not the angel he appears to be. The very devil! They say he is un-slayable, though speaking of a human in such a way is considered treason.

  Sarah stopped abruptly.

  “My queen.” Vladris said.

  “What is it my champion?” the pale white display of beauty replied, a corset snugly fit around curves of perfection.

  “The prisoner is under watch and being treated kind, just as you instructed.” Vladris replied.

  “Thank you my champion,” Sarah said with pause. “I will soon explain to you my reasoning, as well as our plan.”

  “You need not explain a thing to me, my queen.” Vladris responded.

  “A warrior of such valor deserves an explanation, even from his queen.” Sarah said with both admiration and intrigue.

  “Thank you my queen.” he replied, nodding slightly before turning to leave the doorway.

  Sarah wanted to know more. More about their race, and just as importantly, more about her champion warrior. Skimming through the pages of the Hunter Archives, she saw talk of a split in their ranks, the coming of a second queen and a war that would see the two Hunter factions fighting each other. Yet, none of it concerned her.

  As she reached the next entry dedicated to the knight of light, her eyes began to focus with concentration.

  Today our queen executed dozens of our own species. Each of them guilty for speaking of this knight of light, Vladris, in such a God-like fashion. He slew Graddon, our very best, and did so with such ease. Our next move was to trap his caravan away from the confines of such a beautiful castle, slay him by the roadside. Queen Vivian dispatched her three finest elites, a sure death sentence for any Human warrior. Yet, Vladris lives.

  Our three elites fell in battle, along with a dozen Hunters as only two arrived back to speak of the battle. They brought with them a prisoner. A woman named Amelia. She seems to have the affections of Vladris, which our queen feels could be the achilles heel of such a mighty warrior.

  Only time will tell of what is to become of her. But, as of this very moment, they are doing things to her. Unspeakable things. Many of our own warriors have reported her screams from behind the wooden doors in which she is being held.

  Sarah stopped at that moment, having tried to imagine a warrior such as Vladris dealing with the loss of love. She too had lost her true love in Adam Michaels, feeling condemned, even cursed, with immortality. Forever to think about a love never realized; to grieve for the one her heart longed for.

  Vladris had dealt with this very pain for many years now. And it was a trait that made him even more honorable in her eyes. The strongest warrior among her people growing even stronger in the affections of his queen.

  “Non-sense! There can be no such victory, and to speak of it is insanity!” the warrior cried out.

  “Silence Ranthra, you speak out of turn!” Anthony replied loudly, trying to lull the large warrior.

  He was outfitted in brown fur, beneath which, rested a hide of leather that was finely stitched. The hulking warrior's head shaved clean with a scar protruding from the top of his skull to the outer edges of his top lip.

  “I speak the truth,” Ranthra replied with emotion. “To march us onto the doorstep of the Hunters is a death sentence to all who would be foolish enough to follow you.”

  “Careful with your words Ranthra.” Anthony said in a cautioning fashion.

  “Your courage I do not question, for I have seen it many times over,” Ranthra replied, turning to Roman. “It is the courage and abilities of this man. The man who claims himself better than Vladris.”

  “Not a believer?” Roman asked calmly.

  “I have seen Vladris fight, even clashed my own sword against his. I have the very scar upon my face to show for it. Luckily, my life as well. Vladris cannot be beaten!” Ranthra exclaimed.

  “Not by a warrior who walks the path of a coward.” Roman replied.

  “I walk no such path, and you are in no position to question that statement.” Ranthra said, drawing his sword and placing its tip to the Hunter Elite's throat.

  “Enough Ranthra!” Anthony yelled, standing to his feet.

  “No, I want to see what this slayer of Vampires is truly capable of! Vladris went through my group of warriors, six of us in total! If he is as mighty as he speaks, let him prove it right here!”

  “Only six?” Roman asked, a bit of sarcasm on his words as he remained sitting for a moment.

  Then, without a hint of warning, Roman stood to his feet and spun with inhuman speed, smashing Ranthra's head through the table before them. With the powder of wood filling the air, Roman maintained his grip on the back of Ranthra's neck, pulling him back to his feet abruptly before tossing the bewildered warrior against a nearby wall.

  As Ranthra slid to a sitting position, nearly unconscious, Roman met his next challenge head on. The Vampiric warrior clutched the throat of a second warrior who rushed, applying enough pressure for the man to drop his axe, at which time Roman kicked him square to the chest, knocking him back against the opposite wall.

  A third warrior joined the fray, dagger extended fully in an attempt to end Roman's growing legend. Instead, his journey was cut short as Roman grabbed the warrior's wrist, his firm grip snapping the man's wrist as though it were but a dry twig. A backhand sent the reeling warrior to the floor with a thud, Roman having secured his dagger in the process.

  Throwing it end over end with surgical precision, the dagger dug into the wall behind a fourth warrior, merely inches from the man's face.

  It was a warning, and Roman made damn sure it was a warning well received as he all but dared the warrior to continue with the gaze of his eyes.

  “Six warriors, six-hundred warriors. It does not matter. I will have my fight with Vladris before whatever God you pray to. Any man who thinks me unworthy of ending the demon of demons, let him speak now.” Roman said, a harsh truth blanketing his words.

  No man dared step forward, the Hunter Elite having bested many of them in a matter of seconds. At that moment each one of them believed Roman would be the warrior to end Vladris. Every one except for Ranthra, who had been the only warrior who could claim an exchange with both legends of battle. In his mind, the battle could go either way. He was unsure of the outcome, but damn sure that he was officially in on the plan to reunite Roman and Vladris in battle.

  Vladris stood on the balcony which overlooked the bursting water of a river below. Many things raced through the mighty warrior's head as he continued his stare onto the horizon at distant. Rolling hills littered with trees, all seemingly so full of life.

  “His name is Troy.” Sarah said, slowly entering the quarters of Vladris.

  “My queen.” Vladris replied with a slight bow.

  “In my travels with Roman Raines, my human travels, Troy was taken in by our crew,” she said. “I am very fond of the boy, but my fondness is minascule compared to Roman's.”

  “You plan to use the prisoner as leverage?” Vladris asked.

  “I plan to turn Roman to our cause. I intend to force his hand by making him choose between total submission to our will or the death of Troy, because I know he will not allow the boy to die.” Sarah replied.

  “But he is a Vampire now. His affections for the boy may not remain.” Vladris said.

  “They will remain, as does the hatred for our own species. He will be forced to choose to accept his place among us or the death of a young man he thinks of as a son. And he will choose the safety of Troy.” Sarah responded.

  “And if he does not?” Vladris asked.

  “Then you will have your chance to prove the better warrior.” Sarah replied.

  Vladris longed for the battle. He k
new that some of his own race had begun chattering of a demon who possibly could best him. Every chance Vladris had to solidify his own legend, was a chance he yearned for.

  “Speak to me of Amelia.” Sarah asked.

  Vladris turned away from her, once again facing the balcony and view of the rolling hills curtained with rain. It was thought to be an insult to turn away from their queen, though he thought the outcome worse had his tears been discovered.

  “My queen?” Vladris finally responded, masking his overwhelming emotion. The very mention of her name sending shock waves throughout his entire body.

  “My champion, your show of affection for her is not a weakness. It is a strength,” she said, approaching him easily. “Turn to face me. Tell me of your method in dealing with love lost, for I am cursed with the same fate.”

  “Killing,” Vladris said bluntly as Sarah's fingers comforted the face of such an agonized soldier. “When I am on the battlefield, sinking blade to flesh and cleaving apologies from enemies, my mind is not concerned with Amelia.”

  “Tell me of her. It speaks of Amelia in the archives, but briefly. Tell me of the type of woman she was.” Sarah said.

  “She was perfect. I have never met a woman who brought me more happiness with her mere presence. Everything about her made me better, and I do apologize for my weakness with emotion my queen, but think not that I am weak on the battlefield.” Vladris said.

  “I know only the opposite. The archives speak in great detail of the warriors who have faced you, all of them falling swiftly.” Sarah said as they stood only a few feet apart.

  “It also speaks of greater days. A time when the Hunters were a single society, led by both queen and king.” Sarah said, the look of intentional seduction in her eyes.

  “My queen?” Vladris said.

  “Become our king. Rule at my side, and let us unify every Hunter to our cause. I am no Amelia, but I may provide a comfort from her constant memory, and you from the constant memory of my own love lost.” Sarah said.