Warrior From The Old Times

By David Tesar

Have you always liked vampires? Are you tired of those who chase them and try to kill them? Would you like to read a story written from a vampire's point of view? If yes, this is the right book for you.

Lars has been a warrior for centuries. He likes being one, but there is no place for such a person in the 21st century. Technology is everywhere, and nobody needs a vampire with a sword.

One day he reads about a distant planet inhabited also by humans. A place run by aliens who like to keep their word preserved from technology. The best place for a hero. But after Lars succeeds in being transported to the planet, he finds out there is another group of aliens. Ones who will stop at nothing to have the planet for themselves.

But nobody will steal his new home from him. It's time to draw his sword
and kick some alien asses.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Tesar
• Release date: May 13, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463332092

Book preview

Preface – Why I wrote this story

Since childhood, I've had a dream of writing a book. Unfortunately, I have never had enough patience to do it. That is, until now.

When I really decided to start writing, I sought instructions about how to do it. Two of the best pieces of advice I found were ‘write about something you know well’ and ‘write the book you would enjoy reading’.

And here it is. I hope that you enjoy this story, and my effort will not have been in vain.

Prologue

I woke up.

‘Damn,’ was my first thought, ‘they deceived me after all.’ In a flash, I jumped up and looked around me. I was in a dim cave. The dungeon, or whatever it was, was a rounded area with cells on the perimeter. In the central round were many iron tools, torturous perhaps, and a big basket with a pile of cinders and white-hot iron bars. The air was filled with the smell of burnt coal, charred flesh, fear, excrement, and something else strange. I could see only one exit from the dungeon, guarded by a bored muscular chap clad in a red toga, who was leaning against the stone wall.

My dungeon, except the straw on the ground, was empty. My wrists were manacled, and each arm was separately chained to the stone.

Thoughts swirled in my head, and regardless my current situation, I was thrilled; nothing I had seen appeared earthly at all. Notably, gravity was lower than that on Earth. Yes - after months of planning and preparation, I was on planet Vaz!

I didn’t care that I was chained. It wasn't anything I could not handle. Placidly, I noticed I still had my sword with its special harness attached to my body. As I assumed, the humans hadn't been able to unbind it. This was the only asset I needed to settle my life in the way I wanted.

I wondered why the Vazeans from the ship had deceived me, and what the intentions of their superiors were. Whatever it was, they had no idea who I was, and what I was capable of. They hadn’t honored their part of our agreement; therefore, I didn’t feel obliged to honor mine.

Quickly, I took one of the iron links of my chain into my palm and experimentally pressed. It obediently bent. The chain was heavy enough to hold humans but totally ineffective against me.

I put the fingers of my right hand behind the brim of the left manacle and jerked. The lock couldn't endure the enormous pressure and broke. The guard at the doorway noticed I was awake and was hurrying to my cell. I performed the same jerking action with the right manacle, one kick against the door lock and I was free.  I drew my sword and was ready to spill the first blood on this foreign world. 

The Nascency

I was born in the year 1536 in Denmark during the reign of King Christian the IV, as the second son of a lower aristocrat. My father was a proud man who claimed our roots were traceable to the Vikings of the 11th century, which was not a good claim to make in pious Denmark. He named me Lars Frederic Hilleborg, and since my childhood, I had been trained in combat. Later, I participated in almost every battle and war that our kings waged. When I was thirty-three years old, I had already become a higher officer, and I was with many others in Copenhagen as a member of the disciplinary force. This was shortly after the war with Sweden, when destitution and desperation raged everywhere. Robbery and murders for a piece of bread were an everyday practice.

One day, I was alone on the beach watching the mighty sea. The sea was the same as ever, boisterous, strong, independent, and miles away from human difficulties. I liked to watch it, as the sea helped me to forget the misery that surrounded me. I spent several lonely hours there until darkness fell. On my way back to the palace, where I was staying with the other officers, I had to pass a narrow and dimly lit street. I must have heard something suspicious, maybe a sob, perhaps a metal ting because I looked down the alleyway and stopped. ‘Curious’ I thought. In the middle of the street, almost hidden in the dark, were two men and a girl. The girl’s back was pressed to the wall as if ambushed. Due to the darkness, I couldn’t make out any details, but I saw enough to be puzzled. Even though I had no doubt of the men's intentions, all three were quiet and staring at each other. Moreover, the girl looked not a bit scared. 

Leave me alone, she said suddenly and without a hint of panic or fear. I don't want to harm you.

Harm us? laughed the shorter one. You were lucky with Sven, but do not think you can defeat the two of us.

At that moment, I noticed the still, probably dead, body of a third villain. Rapidly, I drew my sword and hurried toward them. Midway they noticed me, but because of the darkness they didn't recognize my uniform, and after they did, it was too late for them. I hit the first one across his chest. The second one turned around and tried to flee, so I quickly stabbed him in his back. He cried out in pain and fell down.

Suddenly, there was silence. I looked at the girl. Her ragged clothes and slimness had initially deceived me, and what I had thought was a young girl turned out to be more of a young woman. I looked at her bare feet. How she could survive a single night in the cold of Copenhagen was beyond my comprehension.

Regardless of the situation and the three carcasses on the pavement, she was oddly calm.

She looked at me and asked reproachfully, Why did you do that?

Why did I do what? I replied. Why did I save your life?

No. I mean, why did you kill them? That one, she pointed to the man stabbed in his back, was trying run away. You didn’t need to kill him.

I was stunned by her ungratefulness.

Hey, young lady, what do you think? Do you see how we are living here? How people struggle for every meal? Those three were robbers, and it was my duty to do something. Do you know how lucky you were? If I hadn’t of been here, you would have gotten raped and very presumably killed. If I had let him go, he would have put somebody else in your place tomorrow! I said angrily.

During my rant, her sight became more uncertain, unfocused; I was beginning to presume that she was going into shock. 

What is your name?

Brigitte, she mumbled.

Do you have a place to go?

Yes, don't worry, she said absentmindedly.

At the time, I believed that shock had fully seized her, and she had no clue what was happening around her.

Come with me, I told her, gently patting her shoulder and guiding her out of the street.

I took her to my lodgings, gave her some dinner, showed her where to sleep, and left. I had assumed that this would be a one-night charity, but she somehow naturally stayed with me. Since that time, there was always a prepared breakfast and dinner for me, clean clothes, and my rooms stopped looking like a bachelor's. A few weeks later, I found her in the kitchen and asked, As I see you are doing well in my household, and obviously, you have no intention of leaving me, do you want to stay as my maidservant?

That would be nice, sir Lars, Brigitte said. The times are bad, will you work for boarding and lodging only? 

With pleasure, sir, she smiled at me with a glint in her eyes.

* * *

We had been together seven long years. I say together, but not in the sense you may think. I had no more feelings for her than for anybody else of a low social class. I was a nobleman. I had no idea what she was thinking, how she was spending her free time, even what she was eating. Why should I? She was just a part of my household, nobody important, at least I thought. After all, she should be grateful that I saved her life and gave her the opportunity to live a decent living. As I perceived later, though, she had to have loved me deeply. At least for a certain amount of time. It was entirely appropriate that she had never expressed her feelings, since she was just a maidservant, but the moment she showed her feelings changed the rest of my life.

At that time, I was in Knudstrup, a small frontier village. My detachment and I were there as the frontier-guards. Unofficially, we were in a small local war with the Swedish army. The village was too small to accommodate and nourish the whole detachment; therefore, one day, I set off to a nearby village to get food supplies. I took six other soldiers with me, and Brigitte, as I planned to spend a few days there.

The way should have been safe, and I didn't expect any troubles, but roughly an hour after our departure, we spotted Swedish soldiers on the top of a nearby hill. We turned our horses around, and at the full tear, we set out back to camp. The Swedes had the advantage of the terrain, and the hill helped them to increase their speed. Soon we were surrounded by twenty Swedish soldiers.

Iaaaa, take them! I encouraged my men and drew my sword. Without hesitation, I rushed into the hopeless battle with our numerically superior enemy. The Swedes continued taking advantage of their speed, and their cavalry crashed into ours. My world shrank to a small place of fallen bodies, horses’ hooves, spattered blood, and cries of pain. I struck the soldier closest to me. He fell down, but his horse continued running toward me. I tried to avoid him, parried a blow from my right, and punched to the left. At that same moment, I was hit by another rider. Tumbling to the ground, I cut the enemy's horse’s leg. He painfully groaned and fell down, burying his rider under him. I turned around, searching for the next enemy. I noticed that most of my soldiers were already dead. I didn't know how many Swedes had been killed, but it was clear that this would be my last battle in this world.

Thor!!!!!, I cried out like my old Viking ancestors. I grabbed a double bit axe from the ground and rushed forward. I hacked somebody on the left, then right, turned around, punched, cut, and hacked again. For a while, I was like Thor, Odin, and Tier together. My weapons were slicing through the air, hurting and killing everything nearby. Nobody could approach me close enough to harm me. Adrenalin flooded my body. I saw red and believed I was just a step before the victory.

Then, somebody cut off my right arm.

I watched my flying forearm, the hand still holding my sword. Somebody else dipped his spear into my belly. The pain brought me to my knees, and something struck my head. Everything blackened, and I lost consciousness. 

* * *

I opened my eyes.

I was lying in a shallow cave partially lit by sunlight from outside. I could also hear the murmuring of the sea. Was this heaven? It didn't look like the heaven described by our catholic priests; according to them, I should have been in the Garden of Eden, stuffed with happy souls, trees, flowers, and friendly animals, but nothing here resembled a garden. Maybe Valhalla? No, it couldn’t be. Valhalla was supposed to be a majestic enormous hall located in Asgard. The cave I was in definitely wasn’t a hall.

I looked at my right arm. The whole forearm was gone, but the wound didn't pain me.  Sure, I told myself, I am dead, I cannot feel. Was I really dead, though? I felt terribly weak and tired, just lifting my head took almost all of my strength. Death shouldn't feel like this. Then I noticed Brigitte. She was sitting on her heels at the fire two meters away, gazing at me worriedly. What was she doing in my heaven?!

Stay still, sir Lars, you are not strong enough yet.

What are you doing here? I tried to say, but my throat was so dry that only mumbles came out.

Brigitte approached me and took my head into her palms, looking deeply into my eyes.

I will tell you everything later, I promise. Try to sleep now, please, she said as she gently placed my head down. I had so many questions on my mind, but I was dead tired. Those few seconds of interaction had drained me so much that I fell asleep immediately.

* * *

I wasn’t any better for the first two days. That’s what Brigitte told me at least. Most of the time, I was in and out of consciousness, and the rare occasions of lucidity I had were flanked by high fever. My mouth was dry, and my tongue was swollen. I might have tried to scream, but no sound would release from my sandy throat. In my few seconds of clarity, I knew what was happening. Or better said, I believed I knew. The severed arm was not a big deal, but nobody back then could survive a pierced belly. Gangrene and blood poisoning were inevitable. I had seen it often enough to know, and I did not want to die this way. Not that I could have done anything about it. I was sure I was dying, slowly and painfully. 

Everything returned to black.

The third day I woke up, and again, I thought I was dead. Even though I had problems moving and was terribly thirsty, I had no fever, and I wasn’t in any kind of pain.

A bit away from me was Brigitte, sitting at the campfire. I wanted to call her name, but Chrhchrhb was all that came out. Better than nothing. She rose and slowly moved closer to me, placing her palm gently on my forehead. What she felt must have satisfied her because she smiled at me and said,

Welcome back to life. How do you feel?

How did I feel? My strongest feeling was surprise at still being alive. Though I didn’t know exactly how much I had lost from the battle, deep inside, I somehow knew I was living on borrowed time.

I made several attempts to say something, mostly along the lines of "what the hell is going on?", but the sound I was making was always closer to the sound of me clearing my throat than to human speech.

Brigitte had risen again and, after a while, she fetched a helmet full of water.

This is salty water from the sea, the only water I have. I will pour it in your mouth so that you could rinse it, but don’t swallow! Are we clear?

I weakly nodded, and she did as she said. The taste of the water itself prevented me from swallowing it, regardless of how thirsty I was. Moreover, I knew that due to my ruptured intestine, I mustn’t drink or eat anything.  I spat the water out and was finally able to say: Thank you. 

You are welcome, Brigitte chirped. I am glad you are better. Do you feel well?

If I had been stronger, I would have snapped at her for her crazy talk. My Gods, I had been stabbed in the belly! How well could I have felt? But before my anger could bubble to the surface, I looked at my belly. I saw only a bloodied vest, surprisingly no flies, nor did I smell the stench of rotting flesh, inner organs or gangrene. I turned my eyes to the stub of my right arm. On its end, I saw a protruding white piece of bone, surrounded by pinkish muscles and fresh skin.

How long have I been out? I asked Brigitte.

Two days and nights. This is the third day after the battle.

Did anybody else survive? And how is it that the two of us have survived?

I will tell you everything later, just as I promised. Now please tell me how do you feel? I need to know, you are my first... she abruptly stopped talking.

I am your first what? I asked her.

She leaned over me, looked deeply in my eyes and in a low, velvet voice she calmly said, Later. Right now, you must tell me how you feel.

I didn’t know how or what she did, but for that moment, all I wanted to do was satisfy her, so I began to answer her question to the best of my ability. I laid on my back and rolled up my shirt to examine my belly. There was no epic wound. In fact, there wasn’t a small wound, either. There was only a tiny rounded scar with several lateral beams, like a starfish. I gently ran my fingers across and over it.

Brigitte, I told her, I feel incredibly well, considering what has happened to me. Look at my belly. I rolled up my vest and shirt to show her. Something is not right. No lethal belly wound can heal like that in a mere two days.

I paused for a few seconds and continued:

I don’t see any herbs around, not a cauldron, nor surgical tools, and you claimed that the seawater was the only water you had. Therefore, you must not be a physician nor a witch either. Am I correct?

She hesitated for a moment, and she said: Yes, I am not a physician nor a witch.

I breathed a sigh of relief. That’s good, otherwise sooner or later somebody would have arrested you and brought you before the saint court.

No wonder she got pale, witchery was a serious crime, with only one known result and penalty, burning to death, and I already liked her enough not to wish such a fate upon her.

Don’t worry, Brigitte, I don’t think you are a witch. I wasn’t insinuating that you were. But something weird is happening here, and I’ve got the impression that you know what it is. Am I right?

She regained her confidence, straightened her back, and gave me that deep look again: Yes, I know what’s happening here. And I will tell you, later, as I promised. You just need to wait a few more days.

That trick with her voice worked again. For a while. Soon I became resistant to her velvet voice though, and the following days were full of tension.

Brigitte! You little disobeying servant! I command you to tell me what’s happening!

Later, I told you! she snapped, as she firmly held her own.

Not later, now! Shall I beat you to get it out of you?

How would you do that? You can barely walk around the cave, she remarked with a smirk.

I had no other choice other than to calm down. The next day I tried reasoning with her.

Brigitte, dear, I said politely, I need all the information to asses our situation.

Our situation is simple. Firstly, for certain reasons, I need you to be patient and wait a little bit longer for the explanation. Secondly, you are not strong enough to walk further than the fire pit over there, she pointed at our small campfire. Thirdly, I am the one who is bringing you water to drink and roots, fish, and rabbits to eat. She paused a little and then added, Make your assessment now. Sir.

Aaargh! I cried and automatically tried to hit something hard. Because I wanted to do it with my non-existent right fist, I only got even more pissed off.

I pampered my rage and tossed furious glances at Brigitte for a couple of hours until she brought me lunch. She laid a piece of meat on a big stone in front of me, saying nothing. I felt guilty, ashamed, and hopeless, which eventually made me even more upset. 

Regardless of my emotional imbalance, I grew physically stronger every day. After about a week, I was strong enough to walk to the sea without feeling drained or nauseated. I took off my clothes, and for the first time experienced the profound impact of the reality of a cripple. The fingers on my left hand were clumsy, everything felt awkward.

I sat immersed in the cold water, cleaned myself as best as I could, and back on the shore, sitting on a rock, I began closely examining what remained of my right arm. I found out that besides my miraculously healed belly, my arm was also a big mystery. Not only was it without the gleet, but it was healing so well that I had the impression that it was getting better.

Wait a moment – it was getting better!

I had a clear memory of the bone being sharply chopped askew. Now the cutting plane was smaller, the edges of the bone rounded, and the bone itself looked shorter. Which was nonsense because muscles tend to shrink, and without proper treatment, the bones should have been more displayed unless the muscles had started growing back. Growing back? I was staring at the wound; the very atypical wound. No scabs, no scars, surprisingly no pain, just a small amount of itching. It was too much for my patience. Intestines tacked back together by themselves, re-growing arm...

Brigitte!!!

I ran back to the cave, where Brigitte had been enjoying the sun but was now looking warily at me.

I aimed my stump at her and said accusingly:

My arm is growing back! as if it was her fault.

She sat on her heels. Well, sir Lars, now must be the right time to tell you everything. Please sit down and listen.

"Well, was it her fault after all?" I wondered. Or should I have said merit rather? 

Sir Lars, please don’t freak out, she started, took a deep breath and quickly, as a statement of fact, she spilled out, I am a vampire.

It took me a while to react. After her first and only sentence, I somehow expected her to continue. When she didn’t, and I realized I had to deal with her statement, I looked at the glowing sun above us and said light heartily, Yeah, sure.

As well as you are, she added.

Brigitte, stop fiddleshitting! You promised me an explanation! I reminded her.

That was the explanation, she said and stood up and approached one of the huge boulders, which were scattered all over the place. And this is the proof, she added as she took the bolder, which maybe three men wouldn’t have been able to move, and hoisted it above her head without any exertion.

I stared at her speechless as she balanced the boulder on her right palm, bent backward slightly, and threw it far into the sea.

Ehm... I cleared my throat, actually not knowing what to say.

Do you believe me now? Brigitte asked.

Ehm..., no. Well, you are incredibly strong, I have to admit. Maybe you are a witch after all, but a vampire?! Don’t be ridiculous! You are standing in the direct sun! I pointed to the sun in the sky.

Yes, I am. You must not believe everything that people, especially the priests, say about vampires, she rebuked. In fact, vampires are powerful, fast, and efficient, and are not allergic to either garlic, the sun, nor the holy cross.

What about holy water?

Nope. It's just water over which somebody waved his hand.

That’s blasphemy! I cried automatically.

Would you prefer to be allergic to mere water? she asked, almost mockingly.

Don’t be cheeky, I warned her, before realizing that with her strength, I should perhaps watch my language.

I am sorry, sir Lars, she apologized, timid again, but you have to understand your new condition.

Then it fully hit me. She was claiming I was a vampire, too!

Emph...Brigitte, why did you bite me?

To save your life.

To save my life? By converting me into a bloodthirsty beast sentenced to live in darkness?! I cried.

Sir Lars, as I already told you, everything you know about vampires is bullshit. Look around, she spread her arms. Does this beautiful day look like darkness? I got the point, but I still wasn’t convinced.

You must be lying to me. Or you are simply crazy.

Craziness doesn’t explain my strength, she said very sanely, nor your healed belly, nor the regrowth of your arm. 

I had to admit that she was right, my own body was the apparent proof of something unnatural happening and I could only hope it wasn’t evil.

Good, I was trying to find solid ground, you said you did it to save my life. But why by biting me? Why didn’t you just take care of my wounds? I asked, leaving aside the fact that if she had, I wouldn’t have survived.

That’s because there were Swedes everywhere. When I noticed you were about to die before I could take care of you, I had to kill them. Then I checked your belly and knew you wouldn’t make it. Fortunately, your wounds weren't immediately lethal, and you lived long enough for the conversion process to take reign over your body. You know, a vampire’s body has incredible regeneration ability. Believe me, it was the only chance to save you, she finished almost desperately.

I took my time to think it over. Naturally, I was angry about all that. Just imagine! We had been living in the sixteenth century in the Catholic country, and suddenly, I had been told that I was a vampire!

Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Why had I to wait until now?

Because you, like everybody else, are not a big fan of vampires. People tend to hunt us and try to kill us. They say we are evil creatures. Therefore, I thought it would be easier for you to deal with the whole situation after you saw the positive part of our kind.

She was right again. During our talk, I was several times on the verge of freaking out, but the fact I was alive, healed, and apparently recovering, held me solid.

I guess I should thank you for saving me, Brigitte, I said sincerely.

You are welcome, she sighed with a spark in the eye, which provoked me to start thinking about all possible reasons why she had decided to save my life.

* * *

With my belly wound healed, I spent another two weeks waiting for my arm to grow back. During that time, just a few days after the big revelation, I became sick. My stomach was cramping, and I couldn’t keep any food down.

Brigitte! I called my companion. Something’s wrong with my intestine. I am afraid the belly wound will catch me in the end.

Brigitte came, looked at me thoughtfully and said, You are fine. Your body has started refusing ordinary nutriment. You are ready to eat blood now.

I hesitated. Did you say to eat? Not to drink?

Yes, to eat. Blood is what we eat.

So now we have to find an innocent human, right? I asked not enthusiastically, but Brigitte smiled at me.

Not exactly, she exclaimed. Vampires can eat only blood, that’s true, but it can be almost any type of red blood. We don’t need humans, almost any animal is suitable for us.

Wow, that is a consolation, indeed, I sighed with relief.

And there is more. The blood of different animals tastes differently, so if you have the luxury of choice, you can choose your favorite taste or make your own combinations! she was almost jumping happily. I should also have mentioned, she continued, that human blood is the worst sort of any; it tastes like iron, she made a face. Therefore, vampires eat human blood only in life-threatening need.

The difference in my recovery after I started eating blood was significantly noticeable. I felt much stronger every day, and my recovery went faster. I lost a tiny layer of fat under my skin, so all my muscles were nicely visible. My sight became sharper, my temperature lower, and I stopped sweating during the days and freezing during the nights. All my scars disappeared, and my skin became softer and tighter.

Not a single day passed where I didn’t notice something new and exciting in my development. I continued asking whether it was normal until Brigitte sat me down one evening and asked if I wanted to know how the vampire’s body worked.

„Of course I want to!" I replied happily. Gone were the days when I was scared of my new existence. With my progressing recovery and development, I was more and more curious, and I actually liked what I was becoming.

So, Brigitte started, I am not an expert, I can tell you only what I was told once upon a time, which wasn’t much, she frowned, but continued almost without stop. What I know is the vampire's body is set to the optimum parameters. Our muscles are thicker so as to be stronger, our senses are sharper so as to have an advantage in hunting. And surviving, she added dimly.

So, we are like the strongest animals, I concluded.

Yes, but we are more.  We have brains! We are the strongest and most intelligent animals!

Wow, you are right. Brigitte, with these abilities, I will be the best warrior in the world!

Brigitte smiled at me as a mother listening to her young boy dreaming about his future. Then I got an idea.

Brigitte, are we immortal?

I don’t know. I wasn’t told and I didn’t ask when I had a chance. But we don’t age, that I know for sure.

We don’t age? Does that mean that I always will be looking like my forty-year-old self? I straightened my back and hoisted my head curiously.

Brigitte laughed. Would you like to? she teased me.

Sure, it would be great.

"Well, the answer is no, you won’t be always looking like you are in your forties. In fact, you already don’t look that way. And before you start freaking out, she continued hastily, you look younger."

How much younger? We had no mirror.

Like me, like twenty-five years old.