Fantasy Quest: Vampire Hack

By Den Warren

Non-stop entertainment with this fast moving, action packed comedy set in a medieval fantasy world.

Medieval troops, knights, Vikings, ninjas and peasants fight for their survival against vampires, werewolves , Vandals, and other types of malevolent creatures, and each other.

Medieval troops, knights, Vikings, ninjas and peasants fight for their survival against vampires, werewolves , Vandals, and other types of malevolent creatures, and each other
Medieval troops, knights, Vikings, ninjas and peasants fight for their survival against vampires, werewolves , Vandals, and other types of malevolent creatures, and each other
This novel is by Den Warren, author of fast-moving tales such as the dystopian Kings and Clans Trilogy; and other speculative fiction works, including Metahuman Wars, K-Tron, and Scorc Hunters.
This is the first Fantasy Quest novel set in the SpecFic Omega Universe

• Language: English
• Publisher: Unbelievable Universe
• Release date: Feb 21, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370550470

Book preview

Chapter 1

Lord Cornfoot the Annoying was accompanied by a stern looking Priest, who was holding a yard-tall crucifix. They were backed by Cornfoot’s personal guardsmen, a sizeable serf militia, and Gorovian mercenaries. Cornfoot shouted to the castle defenders, Ye bastards! I shall tear down every stone of this haven for creatures of the night unless you turn over that wretched vampire beyotch!

The fancy lad was surrounded by simple idiots atop the wall shouted from behind the jagged battlements, You and what army?!

Cornfoot looked at his left and right and shook his head, My patience is wearing thin! Bring her to me at once, or I shall get medieval on your buttocks!

The fancy lad looked confused and said, Depart! You drastically vile sexual deviant! You have no business here with our beloved Countess Irene Von Stroganoff! She does not identify with being a vampire, nor any other sort of undead! Off with you, before we dump a bucket full of an unsavory combination of feces and urine on your stupid head!

Eh?! Cornfoot leaned toward his grizzled old general as far as he could; given the top-heavy weight of his metal breastplate and helmet.

Poo poo and pee pee, Lordship, the general said.

Filthy bastards they are. All of them. Cornfoot sat straight again and said to the fancy lad, The vampiress Irene’s eyes be white . . . all white, actually. Her teeth be sharp, like that of a dog! You are giving refuge to a vampire! Your very actions suggest that you have all been turned to vampires!

Really?! the fancy lad said. Your ignorance is on full display! No one believes in vampires anymore!

Suddenly, the haggardly Countess Irene Von Stroganoff appeared at the top of the wall with a black hood over her head, revealing only her pale face. Her cloak had a very tall collar. Even from the ground it was evident that she clearly had dog teeth and all-white eyes. She hissed and pointed down at the opposing forces. There was muttering among the opposing men that sounded like fear. The men used their hands in the crossing motion over their hearts hoping that God would see fit to spare them from the evil menace.

Lord Cornfoot said, If there be a non-vampire among you, ye will want to rid your town of Stroganoff of her! The evidence all speaks for itself!

The fancy lad looked at Irene then back to Cornfoot and said, Okay, that doesn’t mean anything! No one believes you when you play the vampire card! If we were all vampires, then we would not be out in the daytime sun, exposing our vampire skins to the scars of eternal burning!

Countess Irene turned and looked at the fancy lad. Then she hastily departed. 

Fancy Lad said, Anyhow; verily, I say unto you, annoying one; that if you so much as dream of breaching these sacred walls, your malevolent deed will come back and bite you in your big fat ass a hundredfold!

Fear not! Cornfoot drew and raised his sword and said, You and the demon whore’s wretched souls will find eternal rest at the hand of thy sword, and we shall drive wooden stakes through the hearts of every last one of you! Pray that you turn to dead vampire dust so the vultures that circle above will not feast on your rotting flesh! This is your final warning you loathsome mouthpiece of hell!

Wow such a deal! Where do I sign up?! the fancy lad said, holding the sided of his head. Believe me, Cornfoot, you and your deplorable haters will face certain excommunication if you attack us!

There was more muttering of concern among Cornfoot’s men. Many were crossing themselves.

Cornfoot said, Fool! Did ye not see the Priest at me side?! Ye are the dim ones facing excommunication!

A simple idiot standing next to the fancy lad poured down the vile contents of a slop bucket from atop of the tall castle outer wall. The contents of the bucket nearly landed on Cornfoot as it splattered on the muddy ground.

Attack! Lord Cornfoot ordered.

The general repeated the order and the trumpet sounded the attack. Cornfoot’s archers sent a volley of arrows up toward the top of the wall hitting no one, and the defending archers returned fire. A couple of Cornfoot’s loitering militia spearmen were felled.

Retreat! Lord Cornfoot commanded. We shall lay siege to this wicked outpost of Hell! Ye shall rue the day!

The fancy lad was looking down and saying in a mocking manner, Ye shall rue the day . . . blah blah blah.

Cornfoot’s personal guardsmen and Gorovian mercenary forces pulled back out of the range of the Stroganoff archers and set up camp. Cornfoot ordered a messenger, Reginald-Bob to go and have provisions sent to the camp from his stronghold. Then he called for his war engineer, Zigmund, to build a siege engine at their camp outside of Stroganoff.

Zigmund’s eyes were half open and he sighed and asked Lord Cornfoot, What do you need?

You tell me, you’re the engineer.

Zigmund said, I asked you first. Obviously it depends on how fast you want to knock down the wall and get in there. How am I supposed to know? Maybe you want to attack with platforms at the top? Maybe you want to burrow underneath?

Lord Cornfoot sighed. You engineers are not really people persons, are you?

Zigmund rolled his eyes and said, Fine. We’ll build a trebuchet, that way we can launch really big rocks into their wall.

"I know what a trebuchet is."

Yeah. Because I just told you.

Glshk was the burly leader of the Gorovian mercenaries. He approached Lord Cornfoot and said something incomprehensible in Gorovian while doing some hand gestures.

Cornfoot screamed, I . . . CAN’T . . . UNDERSTAND . . . YOU. SPEAK . . . IN . . . THE . . . COMMON . . . TONGUE.

Glshk muttered more Gorovian remarks in a contemptuous tone while shaking his head and walking away.

*******

After a few days, progress on the trebuchet was almost non-existent. Yet, because of the siege, no one was going in or out of Castle Stroganoff.

The messenger Reginald-Bob ran up to Cornfoot and said, Lordship, the convoy bringing our provisions was raided, and everything stolen!

Cornfoot grabbed Reginald-Bob by the collar and shook him. What?! I thought we eradicated those brigands!

No, Lordship.  Word on the street is that the perp was Sir Lekrak and his men.

Cornfoot shook Reginald-Bob even harder. Lekrak?! How do you know this?!

Lord, there were many witnesses in the village who said they saw Lekrak, the Bleu Knight and his men perpetrate the evil deed.

Cornfoot shook Reginald-Bob again, almost causing him a concussion.  How dare he betray me like this?! Send word at once to me allies! There shall be war!

Aye, Lordship. Reginald-Bob staggered away then changed directions and was on his way.

Chapter 2

Meanwhile, in the Castle Stroganoff, in the smallish candle lit room known as the great hall, Fancy Lad appeared in front of Count Graf IV. Feeling stress from the siege, the Count had a troubled look on his face as he stared at the stone floor, half-consciously petting one of the three hounds who were at his feet. His hair was defying gravity in random directions, and he had not shaved.

The fancy lad said, My Lord, Cornfoot the Annoying and his army, have refused to halt the siege, and he is still threatening to have you excommunicated by the church.

The Count looked up and said, Seriously?! That’s a bit over the top; just because a few serfs with the plague wandered into his realm. That’s it. I’m getting a lawyer.

Lordship, forgive me for repeating myself, but plagued serfs wandering into Cornfoot’s hold is not the cause of the siege. We have tried to beseech the help of the King, but he will not touch the case for fear of being excommunicated himself. If anything, Cornfoot’s action gives us a Casus Belli over him.

A what?

The Fancy Lad raised an eyebrow and whispered, "We can unfriend him."

The Count shrugged his shoulders and said, Like, that will avail us naught, right?

Fancy Lad said, Perhaps we should, you know, consider handing over the Countess.

The Count said, You know I wouldn’t object to giving that high-maintenance wench away on a personal level, but how would that look to my rivals if I gave up my own Countess to some small-time land holder with a few barbarians looking to make a name for himself? No, lad. I have always done my best to maintain a certain level of prestige.

Aye, we wouldn’t want anyone to think less of you, Lordship. Fancy Lad cleared his throat and said, We could muster a larger army, and call in favors from our allies. Sir Lekrak, the Bleu Knight has been quite helpful already, you know.

Big armies cost money, lad. What be the point?

Fancy Lad said, My Lord, Cornfoot and his minions crossed the line, and we must act to maintain prestige.

Count Graf said, I hope Cornfoot and his bunch of buffoons plan on reseeding the lawn after they get done trampling their divots all over it! Every time you tear up the turf you get weeds, you know!

The lad said, What I was getting at was that they attacked us without provocation with a salvo of arrows. He still contends that the siege is because the Countess Irene has become . . . one of the undead.

Who died and made him archbishop on the undead?! I tell you, people in this neighborhood just like to run their big fat mouths when they know not of what they speak! I know that the Countess has been a little under the weather, but that’s no reason for him to bad mouth a noble Lady!

Aye, my Lord. Shall I call for the healer, Dragos to examine the Countess?

Count Graf shook his head, rolled his eyes and sighed. He said, I guess. I hate that greasy guy, but he’s the only Doctor on my plan.

As Fancy Lad was leaving, Count Graf’s ten year-old son, the Viscount Graf Von Stroganoff the Fifth appeared in the great hall.

Dad, they say we still can’t take the coach out. When will this suckish siege thing be over?

I don’t know.

Then the Viscount asked, Well, can I have my friends come over here, then?

You don’t really understand what a siege is, do you? What do you guys do anyhow?

"We play a role-playing game called Modern Men and Machines. It’s an RPG where your character lives in a future world where you have high powered weapons and can drive in horseless carriages and can fly in flying machines, and you fight each other."

That is of the devil, the Count said.

The Viscount responded, Why is everything you don’t understand or don’t like of the devil? You don’t even think about it before you say anything.

Does it have dice?

Yes.

Devil.

Dad, it be just make believe.

Whatever. Tools of the devil are diverse. Just be careful of it, the Count said, I don’t want you to lose your wits about you and start killing people. You should be working on your swordsmanship anyway, you know.

Okay, the young Viscount said, that’s not a mixed message. Wasn’t there four dogs there before?

No, I mean, I don’t think so, the Count said.

Fancy Lad came back with the healer, Dragos. The healer was not a tidy man. He was obese with long, greasy gray and black hair that seemed to be growing everywhere on his face with much less hair density on the top of his head.

The Count abruptly said, Let’s go up to Irene’s chamber. Please try not to upset her.

Why would you think I would upset her? the Doctor asked.

Oh I don’t know, perchance because you always do.

They went up the long spiral staircase up into the tower where to Irene’s chamber. The Count opened the door and walked in with Doctor Dragos following behind. The Chambermaid was on the other side of the room with her hand over her breast. It appeared that she was keeping her distance from Irene, who looked particularly haggardly. Irene and The Chambermaid were both startled by the Count’s sudden appearance.

The Countess hissed at the Doctor, showing her teeth.

Oh my, Dragos said. A bit of a temper today I see.

The Count rolled his eyes. That’s all just an act.

Dragos walked toward Irene, who showed her sharp teeth. He jumped back a bit, and then he tried to move in for a better look. There, there, Countess. It will be all right. He looked her up and down, doing an inventory. Skin color not so good. Her eyes are . . . indescribable. He spoke to The Chambermaid while he was taking stock of the Countess’s symptoms. "Has she been vomiting up anything black?

Not really, Doctor. All I really noticed was that her sleeping is irregularly messed up. She’ll be up all night, and then sleep all day. I’m sure she just woke up, you know.

Has she been eating well?

No, Doctor.

Hmm. . . I see no real dyscrasia.

Thank God, Doctor! the Count said.

The startled healer looked at the Count. Then back at his patient. No quinsy, scrum pox; oddly enough, no ablepsy. Looks like maybe a little cachexia.