Festival of Blood: True Love Vs Everlasting War Duology, #1

By Jonathan Evan Hudson

A Plague of Evil. Only the Blue Guard Holds It Back.

A guardian with special skills and a bright future, Drowen hunts that evil. And into a quest to confront that darkness. Protect the one he holds most dear.

Or else all of Ethygas will fall.

Grab this spellbinding epic fantasy full of life and story, and enter the adventure of a lifetime!

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Swordpulp Studios
• Release date: Feb 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393419518

Jonathan Evan Hudson

Widely traveled, Jonathan Evan Hudson spends as much time studying life as he does writing gripping tales of fantastic adventures. From the giant redwoods of California to the deserts of Israel, his thrilling stories all draw on first-hand experiences and expand them with the fantastic and his acclaimed creativity.

Book preview

Part One

Chapter

One

REAL MAGIC

With its giant barricade of pointed logs, Hartin loomed before Drowen. Only a few more people waited in line before he could get through the drawbridge. He tapped his foot at the whimsical music from the festival inside. Savory smells of meats and breads waffled through the air.

Too bad he had to hunt down demons instead of enjoying the celebration. But if he didn’t the demons would eat the souls of revelers.

The peasants ahead of him passed through the gate. The chatter of camaraderie livened his spirits. He tried to follow them, but the gateman grabbed him.

Hey, there. The man clamped down on his arm. It’s three glitters to enter.

I’m a Blue Guard.

Drowen pointed to his silver brooch - two crossed swords with a blue topaz gem on each end. The Guard’s emblem with blue gems to indicate he’s a Blue. Only the Guard could kill demons, but of the different colored Guards, only Blues focused on killing them and other monsters of the Netherworld.

The gateman laughed. His rancid breath assaulted him. And you’re the twentieth one claiming it. Five glitters it is. A real Guard could pay thrice that amount and not blink.

He grimaced. Only two glitters remained in his purse. His stomach squirmed and growled.

Drowen showed him his telejournal from the Guard. None of the editions sold to the public throughout the world of Ethygas had the golden imprint of the Guard’s emblem.

The man flipped through it and handed it back. So? I’ve seen plenty of fakes.

Underneath the delicious smell of roasted chicken, a whiff of burnt roses stabbed his nose. There’s a demon nearby.

Despite his ragged arms, the gateman tightened his grip. And once you pay, you can go after him.

Just great. Only the Guard could smell demonic scents - either brimstone or burnt roses. Drowen opened his bones to the invisible currents of magic. It swirled in with a warm tingle, filling his marrow slowly.

Even if it means people die?

He huffed. You’re holding up the line. If you’re not going to pay, move aside.

What’s your name?

Albert.

Albert what?

Move aside.

Apparently, his saber and three daggers on his belt didn’t matter either.

I see. Slowly, Drowen showed off digging into his purse. It’s three.

Six.

You said three the first time.

Now it’s six.

His muscles sucked up the magic in his bones. Now. In a flash he snatched a fistful of glitters from the gateman and added them to his own purse. His technique, a speed burst, was so quick no regular human could hope to see him. Only the Vorshaya Tribe of the four Talented Tribes could use it. In fact, besides the rare mage, only the Talented Tribes could use magic without a magical object called an artifact.

Albert blinked. What did you do?

With a grimace Drowen dropped six of the rainbow-colored diamonds into his hand. I paid. Now let me pass.

The gateman held the glitters up to the sun. Both of them saw the reflective rainbows on each side of the tiny gems. They were real.

He huffed and pushed the Guard into the city. Go catch your so-called demon.

Sniffing, Drowen weaved through the crowd of young men and women. The trail avoided the tight cobble streets between the apartments and shops and wandered along the wide space between the buildings and the walls. Stalls with games lined the place, the owners hawking cheap toys or a few glitters as prizes. A stall even offered fruity sherbet on frozen bread crust. Yum. His mouth watered. The preserve bag artifact needed to make the ice took quite a few glitters to maintain, let alone buy. The work of alchemists wasn’t cheap, but anyone could use it. Unlike real magic.

The demonic scent led him to a dwarf with a string of elaborate masks around his neck and shoulders. With carving knives hanging from his waist and thin scars on his hands, the short man grinned at him and shoved a mask of a regal rat with a crown at him.

The perfect mask for you! he said, Just three glitters and you can be king!

The scent of burnt roses was stronger here. The demon lingered here for a while, very recently. Four glitters if you tell me what your last customer looked like.

He perked up. A pretty lass! Like a princess in a tale!

Drowen brushed the chocolate fur on the mask’s snout. It was wood, just like the whiskers. Wow. It’s good.

What mask did you sell her?

Awesome masks! With a short-sleeve coat of velvet, the newcomer went up to the dwarf. Two young clean-shaved guys followed him, each dressed as nicely as the first one. I’ve got to have one.

The dwarf jumped. Absolutely! Six glitters for the finest masks in eastern Ethygas!

Drowen ground his teeth. The demon might have seen him at the drawbridge. Combined with a friendly smile, the mask might get her to lower her guard. Demons were once people, after all, once sapiens - people of the human, elven, foxen, merfolk or other man-shaped races. Burnt roses meant the demon retained her sense of compassion when she bit the bane and threw away her humanity. Well, at least in theory. Brimstone meant she lost it completely.

The bottom of the snout was open. It wouldn’t cover his mouth or block his nostrils. Slinging it on, he plopped four glitters into the dwarf’s hand and rushed off after the demon. His body tensed. Better stop her before she starting the killing.

The crowd grew thicker along with the smell of ale. Singing broke out, pleasant high tones of girls and vibrate baritones of guys. He pushed through them. Some ale from their wooden cups spilled on him. A chorus of laughter kept the raucous song going. A fiddle joined in with a stream of notes.

Someone bumped into his side. He checked for his purse. It was gone. He hissed and turned.

A buxom brunette grabbed his hands and swung around him. Ah, a handsome Blue caught me! Now you need to punish me.

Two red horns protruded from her head, and a heavy jasmine scent floated around her. But a headband held the horns and her hands shackled him to her.

Eilead blessed me, he said, My second demon today and she’s a beauty.

She laughed with the music. Her grip remained tight as his hackles stiffened. With a grin he twirled with her. Raising his hand, she spun halfway into him, her body snuggling in him, and whirled out, not releasing him for a moment.

A hint of burnt roses squirmed passed the girl’s stew of a perfume. Drowen gulped, his mouth dry. Time for desperate measures.

She hopped and wiggled about. He mimicked her. Her body bumped and jerked him with rolls and jostles. He coaxed her quicker and quicker. A lute joined in, and the fiddle gushed out music like a waterfall of rapids.

He spun her again and swung the end of the movement into a mutual twirl. Faster and faster. Their grins grew wider and wider. Her cheeks flushed red as her hands began to slip. He took a wide step and she crashed into a guy, breaking her grip.

Stumbling, Drowen steadied himself. A willowy blond eyed him over. A girl so beautiful kings would forfeit their crown for a night with her. And her clothing showed more of her peachy skin than it covered. Though her forest green mask hid her eyes and nose.

She held up his purse and waved it at him. Come get me.

Drowen reached for a dagger. With a twist of her lips, she giggled and hurried off. He rushed after her. The demonic scent followed her, growing stronger. Unfortunately, only those who wore the Guard’s brooch could see her horns or smell her demonic scent - unless she chose otherwise.

Shit. The summer air felt too warm.

The trail led to a minstrel juggling torches. The smoke scratched his eyes and tingled his skin. A gap surrounded the entertainer and his five flying firebrands. The blond stood on the opposite side and watched for him. Two curved horns of gold protruded from her head. A real demon.

One more! cried the crowd, One more!

A rustic wisp of a girl lit another torch and tossed it at the juggler. The demon snatched a gnarled wand of gray wood from her waist and pointed it at Drowen.

By the will of Turgoth, said the demon, Grant me mastery over your winds!

All six torches whirled up into the air. The Blue ground his teeth. Real magic. Intricate spells initiated with words and controlled by the mind. To stop it, he’d need to break her concentration or her hold on the talisman.

She flicked the wand and ale flew out of the crowd and streamed across the torches. It burst into flames as the first few sizzled out. He drew his saber and opened his bones to the currents of magic. His marrow warmed.

The flames flew at him. He jumped aside, but a torch smacked his head. Wet ash splattered into his face. He spit the wretched stuff out of his scolded tongue.

Two jabs hit his chest. The extinguished torches. Drowen smashed the wood away, and they thumped onto the ground.

Grumbles approached and he ducked. Fire streamed over him.

Pain exploded in his head, sending him to his knees. Blinking, the sting of the ash steadied him. An unlit torch flew at his face. Damn it! He rolled away.

He charged at the demon. The firebrand swirled in his path. They swooshed at him, singing his arms and chest. The smoke burned his eyes and made him tear.

Retreating, he glanced at the crowd. They gawked intent of the show, not eating, not moving, although the crowd had backed away from her.

The firebrands swerved nearer. One swooped toward him. He flung a dagger into it. The thing swirled around and thumped into the ground in front of him.

The burning ale coiled toward him. He grabbed the wood and threw it at the wood. It splashed apart, but the flames swirled and formed a fiery mist.

Sweat cooled his singed skin. He glanced at the crowd. They stood right behind him, licking and chopping their food. Can’t dodge it.

The inferno flew toward him. Ice flowed through his veins. His heart pounded. The breeze chilled his aching skin. Smoke stabbed his nose. Chopping, gulping, and licking. Licking! He turned and saw it. A frozen bread crust with lump and a half of frosty salvation.

Drowen snatched it and splashed the sherbet at the mist. The stuff hissed out except for two small clouds.

Hey! exclaimed a guy behind him. Laughter mingled with cheers.

With a grim smirk, he flung the bread at the demon. The torches zoomed together to form a shield. The clouds shot at him.

Darting to the side, he flung a dagger at her just when the bread smacked the torches. It arced toward her. She jumped and deflected the blade with her wand. Both went flying and she stumbled backwards.

The fiery cloud flew and hissed out. The torches fell to the ground.

He charged at her. She gaped and tried to retreat, but the demon stumbled and fell onto her rear. Crawling backwards, she reached for her saber.

But Drowen plunged his blade into her neck and a blue halo appeared around it. The crowd gasped.

The halo revealed her horns and demonic scent to the crowd. It also forced her to obey simple commands from him and remain within thirty feet of the blade that haloed her. Nor could she intentionally harm anyone while haloed. Well, at least physically.

With a huff he smiled and offer his hand. She blinked then took it. He helped her up. Wow, were her hands soft and pleasant.

Stay beside me, he said softly, And play along.

Everyone gawked at them, their eyes glassed over, their bodies tense. He wasn’t about to let a selfish demon witch ruin their day.

Facing the crowd, he puffed out his chest. A show compliments of the Guard. Enjoy the festival!

The demon giggled. We -

Hey! The shout came from behind them. The minstrel. You ruined my torches! They cost me ten glitters a piece.

Yeah, more like three glitters a piece. He reached for his purse at his waist and found nothing. Turning to the demon, he said, My purse.

Despite a paler face, she fidgeted at him. You don’t have to get snippy with me.

Sorry, he said, holding out his hand, Those torches hurt more than I thought.

Then I should hold onto it until you’re in a better mood.

He grimaced. Talk about a foolhardy demon. Her dreadfully good looks wouldn’t save her. A blonde brighter than the sun, richer than chocolate, rosier than a garden. His insides warmed. Don’t get attached to her. She just tried to kill you. But the halo prevented her from lying. The monster actually thought she might live.

The minstrel grabbed the purse, but she held it. A battle of tugs broke out. The leather stretched and squeaked.

Drowen drew his last knife and put his hand under his purse. Both of you stop.

They ignored him. Only direct commands would work on her. He moved the knife over the purse and waved it so that the sunlight glinted off it.

I said stop.

The minstrel snarled. "You won’t dare.