The Cold Tower; Dark Heritage Saga I: Dark Heritage Saga, #1

By Michael Bertolini

Peace. Prosperity. Freedom. After fifty years it ends.

In the world of Scyllia Darkness is coming. The evil sorcerer Enlokirim has risen from the grave, seeking revenge against those that destroyed him. He searches for the Triangles of Power: nine magical stones that are individually powerful, but even more dangerous together.

Amras Oronar, an outcast elf warrior, leads a group of adventurers in hope of stopping Enlokirim. He is joined by Isla Solwen, a vampire hunter and priestess of the the dead; Zara Wolf, a barbarian with a mysterious heritage; and Ginerva Page, a witch that knows the history and power of the Triangles. Together they'll face monstrous creatures both living and dead in an effort to save their world.

But is that enough?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michael Bertolini
• Release date: May 5, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458134158

Michael Bertolini

I live in Simsbury, Connecticut where I graduated from Central Connecticut State University with a bachelor's degree in history. I have been writing for years but published my first book, The Cold Tower, in February 2010. My writing appears on various creepypasta websites online and in print. [Many of the published books are available from all major online book sellers as well as my website; all are available on my website or at Amazon.com].

Book preview

BOOK ONE

Michael J Bertolini

Copyright 2012 Michael J Bertolini

Smashwords Edition

To all those that helped me create this world

I thank you

PROLOGUE

The monastery doors were usually locked at night, but not this night. Brother Talbar had received a messenger earlier in the day, telling him that a group of traveling monks would be arriving in the area that night and would need a place to stay for the evening before continuing on. So it was that Talbar and two of the younger brothers stood just inside the doors, waiting for their visitors. It was an odd request, the place was better seen during the day; the ancient sea architecture was hidden in the darkness of the night. Talbar wiped a bead of sweat off of his bald head, unconsciously nervous of the impending arrival as the younger monks made sure their heavy brown cloaks looked perfect for the guests; the monastery was far out of the way for any traveler, making the older man wonder why someone would come there.

An hour after sunset the first knock came. Talbar waved one of the brothers forward; the young boy of fifteen years rushed to pull open the left side of the door. The moonlight shone on five hooded figures, their faces obscured by the darkness. Talbar took a half-step back, unconscious of the movement.

"Willkommen Brüder," the young monk said in the local language, bowing his head. The leader smiled and Talbar immediately regretted opening the doors. The man’s feral white teeth reflected the moonlight, the extended canines clearly visible in the light. The visitor’s eyes blared with a bestial ferocity, filled with both hellfire and misery. Only one monster fit the description, a vampire.

Please, I speak not this drudgery, the vampire standing beside the speaker jumped forward, crushing the young monk to the floor. The boy started to scream, but was quickly quieted when the vampire ripped out his throat in a bloody spray. The speaker, who acted as the leader of the undead, pulled his hood back; revealing his face for Talbar to see. He may have been handsome once, but his skin had paled and tightened and his hair was black streaked with gray.

The second young brother turned to run, but was taken down by an arrow in the back from a vampire behind the leader. The leader stalked towards Talbar, who stood his ground. The vampire lord stopped just out of arm’s reach from the monk, smiling the entire time. He glanced around the simple room, sneering at the emptiness of the space. Talbar knew that the opulence of the room was hidden in the night.

Do you know what I seek? The vampire lord asked. Talbar stood quiet. Tell me where it is! He commanded. His blood-red eyes focused on Talbar’s nervous orbs, the monk could feel the vampire’s influence on his mind; but resisted.

"Es ist hier nicht," Talbar replied. The smile faded as the vampire’s arm snapped up, grabbing the monk by the throat. Talbar made no sound, made no move to fight back. The vampire began to squeeze, his finger nails cutting into the monk’s flesh like knives.

I hated listening to the Midellian soldiers talking this filth back in the war, and I still hate listening to it. Speak my tongue, or I crush your throat, when the monk made no reply the vampire pulled him close so their faces were inches apart. He spoke in a whisper. I will destroy your precious monastery, turn every monk in here into my kind, and torture you all for eternity. Tell me what I want to know and I will spare them all.

It is not here, Talbar said; his voice weak, it was moved after Watersgate burned, he forced a smile, "you will never find it. Even the dwarves that built its tomb cannot reach it. Vampir schmutz."

The vampire lord smiled, ignoring the insult. Thank you for confirming my suspicions, brother, he turned back to the vampires behind him. Kill them all; leave their bodies to rot, and burn the place to the ground, Talbar started to struggle, but the vampire ignored him. Make sure that it is not hidden here.

"Lügner," Talbar managed to say before the vampire snapped his neck, letting the corpse fall to the ground in a crumpled mass.

That I am, the vampire shrugged, being called a liar meant nothing to him. He walked away from the body, heading towards the screams echoing down the halls of the monastery. He passed several corpses; the young and the old dead as his vampires moved through the place. He stepped out into the interior courtyard where he could easily watch the destruction. Flower beds and vegetable gardens were crushed as monks tried to escape their doom, their terrified faces illuminated in moonlight. The place was isolated, the bodies would not be found for weeks, maybe months. Perhaps even a year. He could do this for as long as he wanted, though his master wanted him to hurry. He still liked to torture, after so many years, and this was a prime opportunity to do so.

Take your time, my children; take your time, he began to laugh, a sound that echoed down the hill to the trees beyond. Nothing but the rodents heard him.

~*~

Theo sat on the bank of the small island that served as his home. Here he was alone; here he was in perpetual peace. The small island, only a few hundred feet wide at its widest point and a half mile long, served him well. The only structure on the island, the lighthouse that was his home, towered above him. He had one of the most important jobs in all of Torn, the chain of islands that divided the Torn Sea between Midel and Yorshire; he watched the ocean for storms that could wreck havoc on the islands east of him.

Not only that, he served to warn passing ships of the Kraken Reefs that stretched west from his little island. But he still had time before the sun set to light the pyre. He was relaxing now, his fishing pole cast into the salty water around him. Occasionally he glanced east towards the horizon and the distant black line that was the big island of Torn. The ship that brought him his supplies was late and that worried him a little; he still had food but he did not know if it would last much longer.

A strong breeze brought him back from his thoughts and he turned to look back to the west and the ocean. The sky was growing dark, a storm was brewing. After letting out a resigned sigh he stood and walked to the base of the lighthouse where he had left his spyglass. Not too concerned about the distant clouds he looked through the device, if only to judge the way it was moving.

He nearly dropped the fragile device as his hands began to shake. He spun around and ran to the entrance of his home. Inside he dodged the furniture and his wolfhound that was still waiting for dinner. He reached the base of the lighthouse and froze in his tracks, dropping the spyglass in horror. He heard the glass break but did not care.

His eyes were fixed on the hooded figure standing in the center of the room, blocking his path to the stairs. The figure pulled back the hood and he saw that it was a woman, though her face was painted to look like a three-toothed skull. Her black lips curled in a wicked smile as she approached him, drawing a thin dagger from the folds of her robes.

The islands must be dark, she said; her voice haunting.

I…I…must light da..da..the fire, Theo stuttered. He never could speak to women with confidence, always embarrassing himself with his broken way of talking. She shook her head.

The islands must be dark, she said again as she took another step towards him. Theo started to panic and wanted to run away from her, but he had a duty to Torn and the people that lived there. His family lived there. He bent down and grabbed the broken spyglass from the floor and tossed it at her. He did not expect to hurt her, and indeed it did not, but he needed the distraction.

As the woman raised her arm in defense Theo ran to the stairs and began the long climb. He took the steps two at a time, not daring to look down at the woman he knew was pursuing him with that wicked looking blade. It took him less than a minute to reach the top and he immediately reached for the oil when he realized he was not alone.

The woman was standing at the opposite side of the stack of wood. She did not move to attack him but simply held up her dagger. He shrunk back, fearing that she was going to throw it, but knew that was not the case. She was showing him the blade.

The blood stained blade.

He suddenly felt the crippling wound in his stomach and reached down. It was warm and wet. He looked to his hands and saw, to his horror, that they were covered in blood; his blood. He looked down and realized that his hands had not grabbed onto his skin but his intestines which were starting to fall out. He had been careless when rushing passed her; he never avoided her weapon.

The islands must be dark, she said again as she watched him collapse to the floor, oil spilling around him. He needed to light the pyre and toss the green powder on it. Green powder meant approaching storm. She could not allow that.

She only looked out to the ocean once before moving to end Theo’s life. Yet in that one look she could easily see the quick moving storm clouds and the dozen waterspouts moving towards her and the islands, increasing in number continuously.

The islands would be dark.

ONE

The silence was strange. Even on nights such as this, when the rain that had swept over the city all day continued into the night, the silence was strange. Yorshirtok, the capital city of Yorshire, was no backwater establishment that catered to farmers alone; the city had nightlife. Numerous taverns and inns, even a brothel, all invited people away from their homes to spend their hard-earned money. Gold coins flowed from purses and coffers like sewage along the edges of the roads. For the streets to be so quiet was strange.

Ten days ago; three women, wife and sisters of the ambassador of Midel, were found dead in the market district, the southern section of the city. Not only were they murdered, but the women had been drained of all of their blood. Pale and desiccated, the women were found by the city guard just after dawn, and the news had spread across the entire city by nightfall. The rumors began, fear always spread with rumors.

The city guard promised the people of the city that they would find the person or persons responsible for the crime, but the people did not believe them. Two days after they were found a funeral ceremony was held for the women; and the city guards still had no clues as to who was behind the killing. Tension in the city was growing as the King was pressured by the ambassador to solve the horrendous crime; yet there were still no results. Only by royal decree were the victims decapitated and their heads buried miles from their bodies, the ambassador was not supportive of that.

Then two nights ago a noble house was attacked, and all of the residents and servants within were slaughtered. Again, there was no blood to be found, even when some of the bodies had been dismembered. The city guard was baffled and many of the wealthier citizens of the city began to leave for homes away for Yorshirtok. Fears were not sated as panic grew; for the royal family it was a nightmare.

However, there was an organization within the city that knew for a fact what was responsible; a vampire. They knew that it would be up to them to find the undead creatures, and they sent their best hunters into the city to search the streets until it was found. They were spread around the city as best as they could be as their numbers were thin; even with such a disadvantage they were confident that one of them would be successful.

Isla Solwen found herself running through the alleys between houses and taverns, down curving avenues and twisting streets, all in the pursuit of her target. Her breath came sporadically as she ran faster and faster, dodging those that either chose not to seek shelter or those with no shelter to seek. Men and women alike cursed her as she passed but Isla had more important things to worry about. She had first sighted the creature near the western wall of the city, right at the cliff’s edge. She had an unnatural insight into the undead, which was why she decided to begin her search just west of the market district in hopes of finding the creature’s nest; as usual, she had been right.

She had been waiting for an hour hidden on the roof of a bakery, laying on her belly, before it showed itself. At first all she saw were its hands, pale and scarred with signs of decay, but she knew that appearances could be deceiving; it took only a moment for the creature to pull itself up and over the stone wall that bordered the cliff on the west side of the city. It looked around, black eyes searching before it began to walk away, its clothes stained by blood and rainwater. Isla shifted her position on the roof to watch the vampire walk down the road a little, sticking to shadows even though the storm clouds were blocking the moon.

As she rose from her prone position so that she was kneeling the vampire walked to a door, the building abandoned by all appearances. The creature knocked on the door and waited impatiently. Isla slowly stood and reached her hand over her shoulder to draw her sword. But when the door opened she was forced to pause and watch. A robed figure, hood drawn up, opened the door and stepped out. The figure was definitely feminine, judging from her posture and frame. Her face was in shadow, but Isla could see the woman hand something to the vampire; although she was too far away to see what.

Then the woman stepped back inside; Isla gripped her sword but did not draw it; not yet. The woman reappeared in the dark doorway and pushed an unconscious man to the ground before disappearing inside and closing the door. The vampire bit down on the man’s throat and began to feed, but Isla could not let it kill the man. She was suspicious about any woman that would aid a vampire, but her focus was on the creature now. Drawing her sword she moved to the edge of the roof as quietly as possible. Taking a deep breath she jumped to the ground, her sword before her. But before she could land the killing blow the vampire saw her and started to run. She hit it; she was sure of that, but not enough to stop it.

She growled and began to run. The soles of her leather boots were designed to keep her from slipping too much on the wet stone but they still splashed water on her leather pants. The rain was still coming down hard and it was dripping down her face, under the steel collar she wore to protect her from a vampire’s bite, and irritated the skin of her throat. It was uncomfortable but she ignored it for the moment.

She watched the vampire climb quickly up a pile of crates and jump to a nearby roof but she would not be stopped so easily. Her armor had been designed for her, molded to fit her body perfectly while allowing her to be just as flexible in it as if she were naked. The vampire paused in its escape long enough to grab a ceramic jar off of a porch and throw it at her.

She did not carry a shield so she was forced to use her sword to cover her face. Most of the pot struck her chest but it barely slowed her. The leather vest, held together by a clasp across her upper chest and two across her stomach, was lined with mithril. Mithril was one of the hardest metals known to exist and was mined exclusively by the dwarves that dug deep into the earth. The vest, tied to her waist by a belt, stretched down to her lower thighs and flowed behind her powerful legs just like a cape. A few fragments of the pot got stuck on the metal studs of her under armor, but she did not have the time to brush them away.

Her focus was on the vampire who was getting father away as it led her from roof top to roof top. Where are you going? She wondered, too out of breath to ask it aloud. Her sword, which she called Death Reaper, was by her side and glowing with the light of a torch. She was given the sword as a gift from her teacher at the temple when she completed her studies there. She still remembered what he said to her that day.

You are destined to destroy those that would cheat death, he said as he handed her the sword, that is your only purpose and this sword shall be your only weapon.

While her destiny had not changed, she had added to her arsenal; she found early in her career that one needed options when fighting the undead. Not all were easily defeated with a sword.

The vampire jumped off a nearby roof and to the ground, a twenty foot drop. It landed on all fours but immediately began to run again. Isla shook her head, it was too far for her, and looked for another way down. She saw a balcony on the front of the next building and, although the distance was great, she jumped. She lost traction at the last moment but crossed the distance, forced to grab the balcony’s railing to keep from falling to the ground. She looked down and, knowing that it would still hurt a little, dropped the remaining ten feet to the street. She landed in a squat and began to run again.

The vampire turned and saw her stand up again before it continued on its way. It went off the road and between two homes. Isla followed and turned north towards the Tower, the tallest structure in the city. Her booted feet touched lightly on the slick cobblestone streets of the city and she cursed when she lost sight of the creature. Her shoulder length hair fell in her face, distracting her for a moment as she brushed it away.

It jumped at her from the shadows, slamming its necrotic body into her; she slipped on the stone and fell into a shallow puddle of water. As she fell, one of the vampire’s hands slashed at her; cutting into the skin on her exposed arm. A thin line of blood appeared. The vampire’s eyes filled with lust and its lips curled as it lunged at her, but she was able to roll away and push herself up before the undead creature was able to sink its teeth into her.

She turned to face the thing, cutting downwards with her sword in an angled slash. The vampire bent backwards, narrowly escaping the cut of her blade, and flipped over to land in a defensive stance. It hissed at her. As she moved Isla took her left hand from the sword and drew a silver dagger from her belt. She drove the dagger into the vampire’s shoulder, cutting through the flesh and into the bone. She began to concentrate her magical ability into the dagger, attempting to destroy the vampire right then, but the vampire pulled away; slipping free of the blade before it could do any damage.

As black blood poured from its shoulder the creature balled its hands into fists and struck down, hitting Isla on her shoulders. She felt a nearly unbearable amount of pain and she thought, though she was not sure, that she heard something snap. But with the vampire so close she had to take advantage and stabbed forward with the dagger. The blade cut through the vampire’s stomach, causing it to release a horrific scream that echoed through the deserted city streets.

The vampire pushed away, staggering away as it tried in vain to keep its intestines from falling to the street. Isla fell to one knee as the pain swept through her body, but it took her only a moment to recover. As the vampire turned to face her again she feigned a diagonal strike with her blade. The creature fell for it. As it turned she spun the sword in her hand and cut upward in a deadly vertical arc. The blade cut a straight line from the vampire’s crotch to its chin. As the creature began to stumble backwards she threw her dagger underhanded, imbedding the blade deep into the vampire’s chest, piercing the heart.

The vampire let out another howl. Isla let out a sigh of relief but was confused when the vampire did not succumb to the pierced heart. Defeated and with the dagger still in its chest the vampire turned its back on Isla. She attempted to strike it again but the sword was at her side; the fact that it still lived meant something that chilled her to the bone.

Isla cursed, sliding her sword into the coffin shaped sheath strapped across her back. She reached to the throwing ax that was strapped to her right thigh. She flipped open the buckle with practiced ease and took a deep breath. The vampire was thirty yards away and moving farther away fast. Isla took two steps, set her feet, and let the ax fly.

It spun in the air, cutting through like a hot knife through butter. As the silver-edged blade struck the vampire it severed the spinal cord. The vampire did not even bother to let out a scream as it fell to the ground, its dead skin flaking away as its life energy dissipated. She ran to the vampire, hoping to interrogate it before it was entirely dead and turned to ash.

What were you doing here? How could you resist my attacks? Tell me! She screamed at it; but it simply smiled, its