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    Warrior (Drac Ula Book 2)
    Warrior (Drac Ula Book 2)
    Warrior (Drac Ula Book 2)
    Ebook128 pages1 hour

    Warrior (Drac Ula Book 2)

    By Kenneth Guthrie

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    About this ebook

    Vlad The Impaler killed his mother. Drac Ula seeks revenge with the help of his adopted father, the Turkish general Abdul Hamid. Voices screaming for revenge fill his head and the power of Kill Weed is his only hope to survive the madness that has set upon him for long enough to kill his enemy. Through a world ravaged by war, he must find and ultimately end the life of his savior and tormentor.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLunatic Ink Publishing
    Release dateJan 8, 2015
    ISBN9781310305085
    Warrior (Drac Ula Book 2)
    Author

    Kenneth Guthrie

    Kenneth Guthrie is a writer of sci-fi, fantasy and crime novels.Profile image credit: Vincent Gerbouin at Pexels.com

    Read more from Kenneth Guthrie

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      Book preview

      Warrior (Drac Ula Book 2) - Kenneth Guthrie

      INTRODUCTION

      I WISH SOMETIMES THAT I'D TAKEN UP THE KNIFE THAT MY NEW FATHER GAVE ME THAT DAY SO LONG AGO. The benefit of hindsight is, unfortunately, not something that I possessed at the young age when I strapped on the armor of Vlad The Impaler and stumbled the several feet to the tent flap and out into the wide world to create hell wherever I went.

      It's long ago now, but I still wonder if things could have been different. What that means, I don't know. Perhaps I could have remained the somewhat human young man I was at that time instead of the monster that I was remembered as.

      In the end, there is little that I can do to change the legend that I created. Perhaps, even after all that I did, I wouldn't change a single thing. The words here are a memory in written form. It is not the ones you have heard about Dracula, but one of a boy who took the name in a futile attempt to get revenge against one that rivaled him as a monster-to-be.

      My name is Drac Ula and this is my story.

      ONE

      STANDING WAS EASIER BEFORE HE WAS STABBED. Drac's knees buckle slightly, about a hand span, no more, and he falls forward to the muddy grass outside of the tent that has been a place of recovery for him after being stabbed in the back by a small boy fated to die.

      Sir, would you like me to help you up this time?

      Drac waves his hand at the tall guard to the left and pushes up with his hands. It hurts but the herbs that Tia, his healer, gave him earlier are doing their job. He can almost stand up this time. On unsteady legs, he makes his way to where the horses are held. The young man nods to the handler, his black helmet heavy on his head.

      Picking out his usual black, he pulls himself up onto the already saddled horse. Drac turns it towards the edge of the camp and rides slowly towards the outskirts. Every day since he put on the armor of the Impaler – his enemy – he has taken this trip. The horse slips left and right over the muddy earth as Drac holds on tightly to the reins. Time passes in the gentle, slow rock of the beast. He loses himself in the scents left over by the rain last night. The world is fresh today with the smells of fires cooking breakfast down in the camp bringing the wafting meaty flavor of food into his nostrils.

      He reaches the top of the great hill where this all started. Down below the dead rot. Hundreds of men died down there. His eyes search them, see how the attack went, how the boulders rolled, how men died, how he cut down his new father's son – his brother – and how he was taken away and bought here to learn the truth of his red eyes and pale skin: That he had been killing his own. Not the enemy that he was told they were, but his countrymen. A traitor to his own race. Nothing better than a lie bought about by the one he must kill – Vlad The Impaler. He whose men killed Drac's mother.

      You don't need the Turks. Go back to the enemy and put a knife in my killer's back, Drac's mother whispers in his ear.

      I am better off here. Father will give me what I need. They will suspect me if I return.

      They will not, she whispers soothingly. You overestimate them.

      He is not and he knows it. To be captured by the enemy commander and return two months later healed and able. That would result in his immediate impaling. No questions would be asked. He would die before he could open his mouth.

      My son, you have come here again I see.

      Drac glances over his shoulder. Abdul Hamid is sitting on a brown mare with his one hand tightly clutching the reins. The scarred, huge soldier is not the man he was before Vlad cut his arm from his body. He has lost weight and has a saddened look in his eyes. Perhaps it is the knowledge that the one foretold to end the threat of the Impaler to his god is also the one that will bring such evil to the world that it will shake in fear at the sound of the name Dracula Hamid.

      I am thinking about him.

      Vlad? You will meet him in time. My spies tell me that he is moving East looking for a stronghold. Perhaps Fielso.

      Drac turns his horse a little to look down at the center of the battlefield where he killed Kail, Abdul's true son.

      Father, what you say might be true, but the need for vengeance is always on my mind. I cannot breathe without thinking of how much I hate him for the indecency that he put upon me.

      You will have his life in time. Even if the witch is not sure who will win this, I choose to believe that you will win the day when you two meet.

      Drac sits silently for a time considering things.

      How long before I can train with the swords?

      Tia says two more weeks.

      The young man in his pitch black armor sits still for a time breathing in the metallic taste of the blood that was spilled on the field below. His armor has the same scent. So much blood has infused itself into it that the steel can never lose the scent of death. It is a fitting smell for one bent on the destruction of another.

      I will make it one. Let Tia know that I need more herbs.

      You are becoming addicted. He has told me that they can have that effect.

      Drac glances at the older man.

      I am not addicted, but I need them to sooth the pain as I train. Will you help me to heal, so that this can be over more quickly?

      Abdul bows his head.

      Whatever you need, my son. I look forward to the glory that you shall bring our name.

      Drac says nothing again. He is not sure that he can beat the Impaler, even with an considerably larger and better equipped army at his back. He is unschooled in the ways of leadership and so much more. It will take time to learn what he must. Having Abdul lecturing him many hours a day is helping, but he needs more. Experience: It is the answer. All he needs to do is heal first.

      Will you join me in riding the edge of the hill today? Drac asks.

      No, I have things I must do, Abdul replies. We can continue yesterday's lecture over lunch.

      Of course.

      The young man is secretly pleased. He urges his horse forward. It wouldn't do to let the man know that the voice of his dead mother is howling for him to kill the man. Not at all.

      TWO

      DRAC STRIDES THROUGH THE GATES OF WHAT WAS HIS ENEMY'S STRONGHOLD. His armored feet clonk against the perfect cobblestone road underneath them. Each step takes him closer to the large golden palace that sits below the midday sun, slowly being scorched by the heat.

      Your God has a beautiful home, Drac notes to Abdul.

      The older man shakes himself from whatever thoughts he was entertaining to look upwards to the large structure in the distance. His brown eyes squint and a look of concern comes across his strong, scarred face.

      He knows we are here, the man says.

      How do you know?

      His father's looks right suggestively. Drac notes a group of guards standing nearby. He had thought this was normal and that the city was well policed, but now that he looks more carefully, he notes that their allies – or perhaps their enemies – are very well armed. Much too much for controlling the populace.

      Does he fear us?

      Abdul snorts.

      Our God fears no one but he who will bring his death. I think he is more worried that you might turn out to be less than he hopes. It is not uncommon for assassins attack him. He might believe that you are impersonating the one that was said would come.

      Drac rolls his eyes and says nothing. He fears the one they will meet. For as long as he can remember, he has been told that his greatest enemy was the Sultan of the Ottoman's lands. It is hard to come to terms with the fact that his greatest enemy is now his most valued ally.

      You should kill him, his mother whispers in his ear.

      The young man ignores this one. She didn't specify who.

      They ride through the alleys and avenues of the huge city. Around them people hustle from task to task. Drac watches

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