The Wizard Killer - Season One: A Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy Serial
Read The Wizard Killer - Season One: A Post-Apocalyptic Fantasy Serial Online
Authors: Adam Dreece
Tags: #serial, #post-apocalpytic, #Fantasy, #Adventure
by
Adam Dreece
ADZO Publishing Inc.
Calgary, Canada
Copyright © 2016 by Adam Dreece.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at
[email protected]
.
ADZO Publishing Inc.
Calgary, Alberta, Canada
Printed in Canada
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Dreece, Adam, 1972-, author
The wizard killer (season #1) / Adam Dreece.
Issued in print and electronic formats.
ISBN 978-0-9948184-5-4 (paperback).--ISBN 978-0-9948184-6-1
(mobi)
I. Title.
PS8607.R39W59 2016
C813'.6
C2016-902303-6
C2016-902304-4
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DEDICATION
To my wife,
who has either become a firm believer in me as an author, or has completely lost her marbles. Either way, the journey’s fun,
To my daughter,
who surprised me by loving this tale and asked me when the next one would be ready,
And to my friend Evan,
whose amazing support and encouragement helped me to keep going in those moments when I wasn’t sure.
my love of serials
A long, long time ago I used to write 1960s style bubble-gum super-hero serials with some friends. I was a HUGE comic book fan (I still have 1500 comics, bagged and boarded, in my basement). Writing episodes was a fun, mind-bending challenge.
Each episode needed to be gripping on its own, but all of them together had to weave a coherent tale that looked like I’d written them all together. Some things never change.
When I was writing my first science fiction book, The Man of Cloud 9, I decided to give myself a ludicrous stretch goal. On top of writing that book, doing book signings, giving talks, taking care of my 3 kids, blogging, and so on, why not commit myself to writing and posting meaty episodes each and every week. Sure, not a problem. I don’t need to sleep, right?
It was scary, posting raw works like that. I kept expecting to find an excuse why I would stop, but I didn’t.
At first, I figured no one was going to read it, but boy was I wrong. The Wizard Killer had a wildly diverse group of fans. Some would run to my website within minutes of new episodes being posted, and wanted more, NOW!
So for 20 weeks, I brought readers along with me on an amazing and intense adventure. While sometimes I’d sketch on paper where things might go ahead of time, until I was happy with the words on the screen, I didn’t know where things would really end up.
While this version’s been tweaked and professionally edited, it’s still very much exactly what we all went through, only you don’t have to wait a week between episodes. So welcome to a very different side of me, the side of me that’s the story-teller who stares at the camp-fire with a hot cup of tea in his hands, and spins you a tale.
-
Adam
episode one
Raw, stabbing pain rouses me from my dreamless sleep. I try opening my eyes, but they protest. I compromise and stare out the thinnest of slits at the obnoxiously bright, summer day and its blue sky.
I know my heart’s pounding furiously, though I can hardly feel anything. My thoughts are a jumbled mess, but one keeps rising to the top of the heap: use every second. I don’t know why.
With a focusing breath, I realize I’ve got intense pain coming from my lower body somewhere. I attempt to get up, but can’t. Something’s holding me down. I force my head up and see the hilt of my short sword, sticking out of my abdomen, and pinning me.
Closing my eyes, I struggle to remember what happened. My memories feel like someone threw them all on the floor, threw some fake ones on top, and then stomped on them until nothing made sense anymore. I think I was seeking revenge, and was reckless. The heat of the emotions are still warm inside. I didn’t care who knew what I was up to, or what type of mess I created for myself, as long as the person died. Who the yig was I trying to kill? Did they turn the tables on me or did someone else kill me? It doesn’t matter. I’m thankful that whoever did me in used my short sword, otherwise I’d be dead-dead.
The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me that the world’s magic has failed again, but I know it won’t last. No time to wonder how many opportunities I’ve missed to come back, I’ve got to take this one. My sword’s suspend-life enchantment is going to kick back in, and then I’ll be stuck here until either its mana runs out and I die, or… Stop thinking about it and get moving.
Dropping my head and gratefully allowing my eyes to close again, I fumble about with my numb hands until I find the simple hilt of the sword. I push up against the hilt of the sword with everything I’ve got, kicking with my legs until finally it breaks free of the ground’s grip. It comes out of me and goes flying, clattering on stone somewhere.
Yig, the pain’s intense. I put a hand on my abdomen, pressing as hard as I can to slow the bleeding. “Now all I need is for magic to come back…” A nervous chuckle escapes. “Come on… don’t tell me I’ve been out long enough that magic fails for days now. I’m not interested in dying today, though I appreciate the scenery,” I mutter, distracting myself.
Grimacing and groaning, I roll myself onto my side and crawl over to my short sword. Its common appearance has fooled many. “Waiting’s always fun…” I say through gritted teeth. Scanning about, I confirm that I’m in the same forested mountain clearing where I was killed last time. Funny how history repeats itself. Breathing deeply to focus, I rest my head and mutter to myself, trying to stay awake. Every now and then, I try to remember anything about what happened or my past, but I can’t get a single clear memory to come forward. “This didn’t happen last time.”
The pain kicks up another notch. “Gah! Mother of Mercy… Come on, is that the best you can do? I can take it.” I wish desperately for something, some sound to keep me company, to engage with me.
Finally, I feel a twist in my stomach. Magic’s back. I wearily pick up my short sword and lay it on my chest, surprised by how tremendously heavy it is. With a shallow breath, I fight against my eyes closing. “Not now, come on… cowards.” I feel for the base of the blade and run my thumb along the etched markings. A wave of warmth rushes through my body, and I sigh as my wounds close, the pain drifts away, and energy rushes in. “Once again we go from nemesis to friend, don’t we?” I say dropping the sword to my side.
Staring up at the sky, I laugh. “Are you listening right now, Old Man? You were right, twice now.
Bring the weapon of your own demise for your enemy will relish in using it
, you said.” I sit up and scratch my heavily bearded face. “It’s like you knew or something. Maybe having…” There’s nothing there, no memory or instinct.
Shaking it off, I feel my head, surprised to find my hair comes down to my shoulders. Pulling it front of my eyes, I’m relieved to see that it’s still black, mostly. I tap the sword on the flat boulder I’ve been laying on as a goodbye, and stand up. Scratching my thick, scruffy beard, I notice a piece of vine wrapped around my wrist. Touching it, it instantly disintegrates, almost making me doubt it was even there. I recall that it’s one of the Old Man’s tricks for keeping track of time, but the details escape me. “Does that mean days or weeks?”
The screech of a bird overhead gets my attention and reminds me to get on with it. I smile. This time, I’m not going to be reckless and go after revenge at any cost. This time, I’m not going to get caught.
episode two
Scratching the back of my neck, I figure I should get moving, though to where, I haven’t a clue. I try to sheath my short sword and find that I have neither a belt loop nor scabbard. All I’m wearing is my bloody shirt, with a conspicuous hole, and a pair of plain, brown pants. My rough leather shoes are within an inch of useless.