Read Online The Wizard Killer - Season One: A Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy Serial by Adam Dreece - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Adam Dreece
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don’t feel anything inside.
The woman slashes at the carn’s head, missing. Another swipe gets it to back up a few steps into the doorway. At first, I’m shaking my head at how badly she missed, then I realize that wasn’t what she was trying to accomplish. Dozens of arms grab on to a part of the scarred carn from behind, despite its flames, and haul it out of the bar.
Without a thought, I snatch my short sword off the floor and stand, pointing it at the woman. “Are we going to have a problem?”
She stares at me with white eyes and an expressionless face. “Oh freaking yig, oners.” My stomach sinks as I finally realize she’s connected to the arms and probably all the other people I’ve seen so far. I step back slowly, hoping that the hive-mind is more focused on taking on the two carnu than me.
Her head turns as I move. “I’m getting out of here,” I tell her, slip my sword away and scoop up my pistol, my eyes on her the whole time. As I take a step, she points her two black, serrated swords at me.
Staring at her face, I remember something about oners being an infection, taking over the living hosts. They’re alive, just the will and sense of self is suppressed. I glance at her hands, which are thankfully covered in dark leather gloves. She’s not looking to make me one of them.
All of a sudden I feel magic drop hard and fast. She stumbles and falls over, while I drop to my knees and throw up. Shaking my head, I force myself to my feet. She’s looking lost. She jerks her head about, strangely. Maybe they use magic to communicate? Huh, interesting, but a thought for another day.
A loud whoosh grabs my attention. The entire ceiling and the beams are ablaze. “I’ve got to get out of here.” Scanning about, I can’t see Randmon. “Randmon, if you’re here, get out!”
There’s a roar at the doorway and my shoulders slump. I don’t need to look back to know the carn’s standing there. Even still, I can’t help myself and glance over my shoulder. The scarred carn’s standing there, bloody and with dark spots on its body, some of them large. I don’t think anything can stop it.
I fall on the floor, a sense of vertigo as my stomach tells me that magic’s rocketing back. Propping myself up with one arm, I aim my pistol squarely at the carn’s black scar. “Want some more?”
Staring into the mage-skull’s eyes, a memory breaks through. I’m twelve years old and strapped to a table, someone looking over me. Words I heard a thousand times ring in my ears: Great wesleks are made, not found . The Old Man, he helped me escape. He was the first of us. The carn and I stare at each other, one magical experiment to another.
Bouncing my leg nervously, I keep darting my eyes back and forth between the carn and the oner woman, who’s got her blades back in hand. The three of us stand there, waiting. Suddenly the carn flinches, screams, and falls to its knees.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up as the carn looks at me in pain. A sense of fear and a yearning for help washes over me. I shake my head to clear it.
The carn tries to reach around its back, but can’t and then it falls forward, it’s flames barely visible.
I reaffirm my sweaty grip on my pistol and swipe a hand across my soaked upper lip as I stare at the shadow behind it. What the yig can bring down a carn like that?
Stepping into the bar, I see it’s the leecher, her eyes wild. The once-dark side of her face looks fine, almost sparkling.
“Yigging Mother of Mercy, what the—?” My arm starts to tremble as I push myself backwards. If she drained the carn, I can’t imagine what she’ll be able to do now. Leechers are untrained and unpredictable.
The oner woman takes a step back and then drops her hands at her side. I flip my gaze between the two of them, something’s not making sense. I’ve never heard of oners having an alliance with anyone, and leechers are always consumed by their addiction
The woman slashes at the carn’s head, missing. Another swipe gets it to back up a few steps into the doorway. At first, I’m shaking my head at how badly she missed, then I realize that wasn’t what she was trying to accomplish. Dozens of arms grab on to a part of the scarred carn from behind, despite its flames, and haul it out of the bar.
Without a thought, I snatch my short sword off the floor and stand, pointing it at the woman. “Are we going to have a problem?”
She stares at me with white eyes and an expressionless face. “Oh freaking yig, oners.” My stomach sinks as I finally realize she’s connected to the arms and probably all the other people I’ve seen so far. I step back slowly, hoping that the hive-mind is more focused on taking on the two carnu than me.
Her head turns as I move. “I’m getting out of here,” I tell her, slip my sword away and scoop up my pistol, my eyes on her the whole time. As I take a step, she points her two black, serrated swords at me.
Staring at her face, I remember something about oners being an infection, taking over the living hosts. They’re alive, just the will and sense of self is suppressed. I glance at her hands, which are thankfully covered in dark leather gloves. She’s not looking to make me one of them.
All of a sudden I feel magic drop hard and fast. She stumbles and falls over, while I drop to my knees and throw up. Shaking my head, I force myself to my feet. She’s looking lost. She jerks her head about, strangely. Maybe they use magic to communicate? Huh, interesting, but a thought for another day.
A loud whoosh grabs my attention. The entire ceiling and the beams are ablaze. “I’ve got to get out of here.” Scanning about, I can’t see Randmon. “Randmon, if you’re here, get out!”
There’s a roar at the doorway and my shoulders slump. I don’t need to look back to know the carn’s standing there. Even still, I can’t help myself and glance over my shoulder. The scarred carn’s standing there, bloody and with dark spots on its body, some of them large. I don’t think anything can stop it.
I fall on the floor, a sense of vertigo as my stomach tells me that magic’s rocketing back. Propping myself up with one arm, I aim my pistol squarely at the carn’s black scar. “Want some more?”
Staring into the mage-skull’s eyes, a memory breaks through. I’m twelve years old and strapped to a table, someone looking over me. Words I heard a thousand times ring in my ears: Great wesleks are made, not found . The Old Man, he helped me escape. He was the first of us. The carn and I stare at each other, one magical experiment to another.
Bouncing my leg nervously, I keep darting my eyes back and forth between the carn and the oner woman, who’s got her blades back in hand. The three of us stand there, waiting. Suddenly the carn flinches, screams, and falls to its knees.
The hair on the back of my neck stands up as the carn looks at me in pain. A sense of fear and a yearning for help washes over me. I shake my head to clear it.
The carn tries to reach around its back, but can’t and then it falls forward, it’s flames barely visible.
I reaffirm my sweaty grip on my pistol and swipe a hand across my soaked upper lip as I stare at the shadow behind it. What the yig can bring down a carn like that?
Stepping into the bar, I see it’s the leecher, her eyes wild. The once-dark side of her face looks fine, almost sparkling.
“Yigging Mother of Mercy, what the—?” My arm starts to tremble as I push myself backwards. If she drained the carn, I can’t imagine what she’ll be able to do now. Leechers are untrained and unpredictable.
The oner woman takes a step back and then drops her hands at her side. I flip my gaze between the two of them, something’s not making sense. I’ve never heard of oners having an alliance with anyone, and leechers are always consumed by their addiction
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