The Vampire Scrolls - Book 1: The Chosen One (eBook)
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EPUB
2015
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1. Auflage
531 Seiten
Greg Burke (Verlag)
978-0-9806408-3-0 (ISBN)
531 Seiten
Greg Burke (Verlag)
978-0-9806408-3-0 (ISBN)
Fifteen-year-old Elizabeth Báthory is the envy of her times: smart, beautiful, wealthy and about to marry a handsome and powerful noble. She is also one of the last generations of vampires blessed with immortality. However, she must struggle with the mantle of an age old prophecy that names her as the one to end the existence of all vampires and lycans alike. She must decide whether to fight for her own life and doom her kind or kneel down to the prophecy and accept her fate. Historical fact intertwined with supernatural fiction, The Vampire Scrolls - Book 1: The Chosen One is threaded with a patchwork of love, forbidden desires, treachery, loyalty and betrayal.
Near Sarov, Muscovy, 1575
After running for a full day Stazir is weary, but he continues to struggle east through the thick snow. He is one of the most powerful lycans and the overlord of the Szalmadi clan, one of the two original lycan clans, and all their descendents. A direct descendent of the legendary Vitus and his son Kelad, the blood in his veins is royal, in that regard.
Passing through a final stand of pine trees he enters a clearing that is home to an ancient looking palace. Burrowing through a snow drift he finally escapes the bitter cold and enters a long, dark corridor. Padding along silently, Stazir moves as if he has returned to a long lost home, with steady paws, yet cautiously sniffing every so often. He transforms himself back into human form as he passes through one of the long stone corridors and approaches the vaulted main chamber of the ancient lycan meeting place, deep in the Muscovy forest near Sarov. Pausing, he takes a moment to compose himself before reporting to the awaiting Lycan High Council. Fully naked, he steps into the candle lit room, to a murmur of surprise. His appearance is that of a man in his mid thirties. He is not overly tall but has a muscular body that moves with a fluid grace. His sandy hair is extremely short and finishes three quarters of the way along the top of his head, leaving a shining sweat soaked dome of forehead to sit above close set brown eyes and a strong nose. Combined with a square chin, that has a slight crease in its very centre, and a face covered in stubble, the overall visage is one of fierce power and regalness, not to be crossed lightly.
From out of a dimly lit alcove to his left someone throws him a long silky cloak which he draws around his shoulders. The large circular room is surrounded by such alcoves, mostly lit with candles, and all occupied by a single, heavy wooden chair. Some of these chairs are filled and some are empty. Precisely half way around the room on either side stands a large and ornate stone throne, each adorned with soft cushions and surrounded by richly dressed people, all chatting sombrely. As Stazir moves towards the throne on the right his scalp is prickled by the pull of a gust of wind. He looks up, noticing that the open ceiling reveals a full moon in the dark sky. Stazir walks to the very centre of the room and drops onto one knee, bowing his head in respect, as he kneels on the very first lycan crest, before moving to the throne on the right, the Szalmadi crest carved into its back.
Once he is seated there is a loud howl and the room immediately comes to attention. Seats are filled and those of lesser importance mill around their lords, watching Stazir intently, as if expecting him to speak.
The man sitting on the throne opposite Stazir turns to his side and quietly addresses a grovelling lackey. “Find Vimla, it has been too long since I have seen my daughter and I would have her by my side when I become the sole leader of all lycans.” The man nods and disappears. Now, turning his attention back to the new arrival sitting opposite him, “Stazir, what news? We saw the orbs meet and merge, does this mean you were unsuccessful?” he asks with a spiteful and condescending tone. He is a wiry man in his late fifties with a bald head and hawk like brown eyes above a smallish nose and mouth. Altogether a compact face that seems to barely hide a vast anger.
Stazir rises, “Yes,” he says simply, his head held high in defiance.
There is an outbreak of panicked chatter and accusations. “How could you fail?” shouts the man still seated on the throne opposite. “We offered you help, we placed all the resources of the Zeleméri clan at your disposal. Yet you claimed you did not need us,” he pauses for a second to let the rumbles of agreement roll over him. “We have spent centuries trying to figure out the Prophecy, for what? To have our one chance to stop it, vanish with your arrogance and stupidity?” spittle flies from his mouth as he rises to his feet in anger. The crowd goes quiet as the two leaders begin to slowly circle each other in the middle of the room.
“I took my best people! And lost many of them! The vampires were there, in force. None of us expected them to try and protect her, at the risk of changing the very balance we live in. The Ecsed clan were foolish to have brokered the deal with the humans, and now, with both lycans and vampires attempting to kill her, we may have broadcast our existence to the masses that keep us living. What would you have me do, Vathiz?”
“You should have stopped at nothing to destroy the Chosen One! The fact that you stand here before us and she still breathes is an insult, to all lycans, present and otherwise! I call upon the High Council to take a vote, the fate of Stazir and his failure, in the light of this full moon?” he points to the sky.
Noble men and women vacate their seats and emerge from the alcoves, one from each that is not empty, to form a loose circle. Vathiz backs away to join the circle, leaving Stazir alone in its centre.
“For this failure, that has put the very future of our existence in jeopardy, I say, DEATH!” Vathiz screams the last word that turns into a howl. A howl that is picked up by everyone in the room save for Stazir. As Vathiz’s face transforms into that of a lycan, and his fangs grow large, he is noticeable from the other lycans in that one of his long fangs is broken and is clearly almost two inches shorter than the other.
Stazir is immediately wary. He surveys his brethren, all with heads raised and howling to the moon in agreement to his imminent death. A light dusting of white snow begins to fall through the open ceiling, as if to suggest a time for renewal is at hand.
Without warning there is a scream of, “Pure blood!” and the circling nobles rush, as one, at Stazir. Having anticipated this, Stazir braces himself, and changes his upper body into wolf, ripping the heads off the first two to reach him, before falling into a ruthless brawl. There are screams and yelps of pain as claws and fur blur into one with the frenzied movement. There is a deafening growl and the amassed lycans pull back, allowing Vathiz access to the wounded Stazir. The two leaders run at each other and lock in a grisly embrace. Vicious blows and ripping ensue until there is a high pitched yelping and Vathiz limps backwards. Barking a few short staccato commands Vathiz instructs the nobles to close in once more, to finish the job that he could not.
From the same cubicle that the robe had been thrown earlier, the heavy wooden chair comes sliding across the floor. Lycans jump clear as they sense its presence approaching, allowing it to stop only feet from Stazir. Without hesitation Stazir changes his legs to those of a wolf as he runs towards the chair. He leaps onto it, using it as a springboard, and performs an incredible jump. Changing his front paws back to human hands as he flies through the air, he lands on the inner rim of the open ceiling, his hands managing to successfully grip the edge where his paws would have been useless. He struggles up onto the ceiling as the howls below turn to anger and frustration. Badly wounded, Stazir limps to the outer edge and jumps to the ground. Immediately he changes to wolf and lopes painfully away from the palace, struggling through the thick snow once more. The dark trees of the forest provide a quick form of cover. Resting only briefly, he cocks his head to listen to the calls of his former brethren, organising the pursuit and hunt of their greatest warrior.
***
Inside the palace a lone figure remains in human form, deep in the shadows of one of the cubicles, the candle extinguished. The cubicle is missing its wooden chair, so the figure crouches low to the ground at the very rear of the space. It remains motionless, even after the last of the lycans have departed to hunt the great warrior Stazir.
***
Weak and bleeding Stazir realises that his only chance to elude his pack is to head to the town of Kadom. Sarov was not far but was controlled by the lycans, so this was not an option. Temnikov was probably around twelve miles away, half the distance of Kadom, and where most of the hunters would guess he was heading, if not for the river, especially as he was wounded. But Kadom had a larger population and was notorious for their resistance to the lycans. The many humans populating the town, and their reputation, would be sufficient to deter all but a few of the braver lycan pursuers. Darting through the forest of massive pine and fir trees, he angles to the left and away from the course he had been taking, which led to the Sarovka River, and the most logical escape route.
His bloody brown hair, streaked with silver, wends its way between the trees, picking the path of least resistance. The snow on the ground is thick, even under the trees, and he knows if he has to run the twenty-five miles through shoulder deep fresh snow, he will never make it. Suddenly he skids to a stop under a towering black poplar tree. His piercing eyes survey the surroundings and his sharp ears prick up. He tilts his head, sniffing at the air, without warning he leaps to his left. A sleek black wolf crashes head first into the thick tree trunk, where seconds...
| Erscheint lt. Verlag | 23.6.2015 |
|---|---|
| Sprache | englisch |
| Themenwelt | Literatur ► Fantasy / Science Fiction ► Fantasy |
| Literatur ► Fantasy / Science Fiction ► Science Fiction | |
| ISBN-10 | 0-9806408-3-0 / 0980640830 |
| ISBN-13 | 978-0-9806408-3-0 / 9780980640830 |
| Haben Sie eine Frage zum Produkt? |
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