The Wielder: Sworn Vengeance (bonus chapter) Read online

The Wielder: Sworn Vengeance

  Bonus Chapter

  David Gosnell

  Copyright December 2013 David Gosnell – All rights reserved.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Third edition, June 2014

  Bonus Material

  Time: Shortly after the beheading of Maldgorath the Collector

  Location: Bridgetown, Barbados

  Reginald Blackmore slips on his shoes and stands to leave.

  “Hey Reggie, you said I did good. Shouldn’t you tip for good service,” asks the young lady pulling up the strap of her slip.

  He turns to her with a displeased look. “How many times do I have to tell you – it’s Reginald. Not Reg. Not Reggie. And you know you’re always good, that’s why I come back. A tip hasn’t been part of the bargain. I pay good - I get good. That’s it.”

  She pouts at him, hoping to break that stone cold exterior of his. “You don’t want to take care of me?”

  “Your damn pimp takes care of you Marie and if I tip you – he gets it anyway. Do I need to find another regular?”

  “No... You’re a hard man, you know,” she says back sullenly.

  He turns and leaves, stopping at the door. “Not so hard now, I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  He closes the door, walks down the hall and mutters, “Damn whore.” Then he smiles, his new life as Reginald Blackmore is great. He buys himself a woman every night, eats good food and nobody tells him what to do.

  Nobody.

  The night air greets him and he stops to take it in. The cabbie can wait for him – Reginald knows he’s a regular fare. He walks over to the cab and gets in the back at his own pace.

  “Back to the house, Omar.”

  “What, no pub tonight Mr. Blackmore,” the cabbie asks.

  “I said back to the house, did that sound like the damn pub to you?”

  A short drive later, the cab arrives at Reginald’s home. It’s a nice, smallish, two story home with iron fence and gate. Reginald pays Omar to the penny – no tip. Then he notices something wrong – the gate is open. The street lights of his neighborhood cast light into the yard. He doesn’t see anyone trying to hide to get him.

  Good luck to them if they tried. Reginald has spent a life of hard work on the land. “Damn kids,” he mutters and makes his way to the front door. He checks the door and it’s still locked. He lets himself in then sees something up the stairs – a faint light. A faint light that turns off…

  “Well, I got something for you,” he whispers to himself as he reaches into the umbrella holder and produces a revolver. “Thinking to take what’s mine, I got something for you,” he mutters quietly in his thick British accent.

  He carefully stalks up the stairs, taking care to turn on the light first. He will not be ambushed. At the top of the stairs, he considers where the direction of the light might have been – most likely the office. He starts at the bedroom across the hallway and methodically checks each room until he gets to the office. He takes a moment to collect himself, and then flings the door open. After pausing for a second, he steps in and flicks the light switch.

  No light.

  He scans the room and sees someone sitting in the chair in front of his desk – someone large. He unloads the pistol. A long moment passes and he sees an arm reach over and with a “click” the desk lamp turns on, revealing the intruder.

  Ahtsag Znuul. His palm is out and the bullets appear to be stuck in midair. That hand relaxes and the bullets fall to the ground.

  “Mr. Blackmon, everyone believes you were killed in the bombing of the Chateau,” says Znuul.

  Reginald throws the gun at Znuul, who catches it offhandedly.

  “Well, come on you damn demon monster, do what you came for!”

  Znuul laughs. “Oh, you’d like that wouldn’t you? A quick, albeit painful death.”

  “No, actually I’d like you to get the hell out of my house. Heard you were alive. Took your damn time finding me.”

  “Yes, I had other matters to attend to. As for getting out of your house; not happening - for a while at least Reggie. Come sit, we need to catch up.”

  “It’s Reginald, damn it,” he says walking over to his desk. He regards Znuul, in human form. But Reginald knows what he really is – and what he can do. “You’re looking awful calm for catching up with the man that set you up to be killed. Thought for sure the old bastard would have taken you to the grave with him.”

  “My buttons are not pushable today Reggie,” says Znuul with a smile. He sets the revolver on the desk. “So the question – why Reggie? He did so much for you and your family.”

  “Family, bah,” says Reginald spitting on the floor to accent his point. “I did everything for them and what the hell have they done for me? Damn wife put on a hundred pounds. The kid just keeps asking for more and more. Well, got ‘em both off my tit.”

  Znuul looks at him curiously, his head cocking from side to side. “So… why?”

  “Cause it’s time for me to take care of me. Been working for others my whole life. Now, I’m a free man – I live the way I want.”

  Znuul smiles, “Yes. I’m acquainted with the me before everything else principle. In my realm, we call it the one true law. It appears Reggie that you’ve embraced the dark side completely.”

  “Bugger off.”

  Reginald reaches down to the drawer of his cabinet and pulls out a bottle of gin and a glass. With no ceremony, he pours himself one and downs it. “Well, you’re just going to talk me to death?”

  “No Reggie, not to death. So you really don’t give a damn about your wife and child?”

  “That’s right. I’m dead to them. They’re dead to me. I could give less of a damn about ‘em.”

  “But that whore, what’s her name… Marie. The one you see almost every night. You must care about her.”

  “Just a damn whore. You can buy her time too.”

  Znuul leans back in the chair and rolls his eyes. “Let me tell you, I’m at a loss. Your heart has become as cold as any I’ve known from the home realm. No feelings for anyone. You sure? Not even your daughter? The fruit of your loins. Apple of your eye?”

  “Nothing but a damn needy girl. And I don’t need no needy girl.”

  Znuul rubs his chin in consideration, then picks up the cooler at his side and sets it on his lap. “Well, I feel kind of foolish sharing this then. You know, before coming here I paid your daughter a visit. Her boyfriend was very protective… was.”

  “Like I would care about a boyfriend,” he says pouring another healthy glass of gin. “You tell her I was alive? Let me guess, you told the wife too.”

  “You left off the insurance company, you did take out a rather nice policy to take care of them,” Znuul says the full car dealer grin in bloom on his face.

  That got Reginald’s attention. He gulps down his gin.

  “Relax Reggie,” Znuul says moving the cooler to the floor, “I did no such thing. Your secret is safe. But I did pay your daughter a visit.”

  With that Znuul opens the cooler and plops a severed woman’s hand on his desk.

  Reg
inald jumps in his seat and looks aghast at the grisly present on his desk.

  “The ring look familiar,” asks Znuul, smiling, leaning in and touching it.

  Reginald grabs the garbage can and the gin comes back up.

  “She didn’t have any…”

  “You took away all I held dear and left me a criminal accused of your crime!” Znuul shouts interrupting him.

  The tone of Znuul’s statement was no longer playful. The encounter has changed and Reginald realizes he is powerless to do a thing about it. He glares at Znuul.

  “Seems you care after all – good,” Znuul says meeting the glare. “What is my title? What did they call me?”

  Reginald doesn’t respond with anything but that glare.

  Znuul hops to his feet and slams both hands down on the desk. The intensity of Znuul’s glare is upped by a psionic fear projection. Reginald’s chair spills out from under him in response and he falls butt first to the ground.

  “What is my title, traitor,” Znuul shouts, his voice reverberating. “Now!”

  “Destroyer of Hope. Devourer of Souls,” Reginald says weakly from the floor.

  “Yes. Now you will understand why. Pick yourself up fool,” Znuul says sternly.

  Reginald does as he’s told. Znuul takes the bottle of gin and pours one, pushing it over to Reginald. Then he begins to walk around the desk, standing over Reginald.

  “Drink. You’ll need it.”

  Reginald does as he’s told. Znuul casually steps over to his side. Znuul removes the glass from Reginald’s hand and pushes his arm down to the desk. Znuul sets the glass down and then grasps Reginald’s index finger with his now free hand. Reginald winces as he feels the bones in his finger break, and then stifles his scream as the finger is pulled backward and broken further.

  Znuul looms over him and says, “No hope for you Reginald Blackmon. Let me share your future. I am going to pay you regular visits. With each visit, I will bring you a little piece of someone you hold dear. And then I will break a little piece of you. In case you didn’t know… you have lots of pieces.”

  Znuul reaches over Reginald, who is now clutching his hand and pours another gin for him. Then he pulls out the top left drawer and retrieves a box of ammunition from it. He extracts one bullet and takes the gun.

  “No hope for you Reginald. Well... maybe. Let’s see if you get off easy.”

  Znuul takes the pistol and dumps the empty casings on the floor, then appears to load the bullet. He spins the cylinder and pulls back the hammer.

  “Do it,” spits out Reginald.

  “Click,” goes the gun and Reginald jumps. “Click,” it goes again followed by another jump. “Click, click, click, click.”

  Reginald is shaking and pale.

  Znuul holds up a single bullet showing his sleight of hand. “Whoops. Forgot to load it.”

  “Demon bastard.”

  He flips open the cylinder and makes it a point that Reginald sees him insert the bullet. Then he begins filling it completely, flips it closed and sets it on the desk in front of Reginald. Reginald looks up into the red-brown human eyes of Ahtsag Znuul.

  “Them bullets won’t hurt you.”

  Znuul smiles. “No, they won’t harm me. But think of the possibilities. You may not have a hope in the world, but for all those you hold dear, maybe they do.” Znuul walks back around the desk and puts the severed hand back in the cooler making it a point to remove the ring and set it on his desk. “Goodbye Reginald. I will be seeing you again – very soon. Oh, and Marie - wasn’t that her name?”

  Reginald has no words.

  Znuul leaves the room, makes his way down the steps, and out the door. Standing in the street to the side of the metal gate is a slender woman in a red dress.

  “Well?” she asks.

  “We had a pleasant chat. I roughed him up a little bit. But I didn’t kill him; father would have never abided that.”

  “Then let me up there,” she says back fiercely.

  Znuul smiles and puts his free arm around her, turning her towards the house. “Wheels are in motion my dear. Trust in Ahtsag Znuul. Father wouldn’t abide you killing Reginald either.”

  She melts for a moment under his arm, and then she looks at the cooler in his other hand. “God, you still have that grisly thing? What exactly did you need it for? You said you’d explain all things.”

  “Yes, have to return this to the coroner – he insists,” Znuul says almost whisper like. “I may have given Reginald the impression that it belonged to someone else.”

  “That’s just wrong.”

  Znuul shrugs.

  They stand there for a second and the light in the office room goes out.

  “Well, I was hoping for something more than that. A hard man he is,” Znuul says offhandedly.

  Then the curtains open and there stands Reginald Blackmon. He looks out over the horizon and then notices the two standing in front of his iron fence.

  “That bastard,” yells Karen breaking away from Znuul’s arm. She glares at the man in the window who returns her gaze. Her hands begin the intricate movements of a spell-cast.

  “Karen, no,” says Znuul.

  And her casting comes to a stop. Not because of what Znuul said, but because Reginald appears to put a revolver against his temple. There’s a muzzle flash and the pop of a gun.

  Reginald falls back from the window.

  “There. Maybe not so hard after all,” says Znuul.

  Karen wheels around on Znuul. “Did you... make him do that?”

  “No dear,” he says stepping to her side and putting his arm back around her. “That was 100% of his own free will. I guess he decided that was a better alternative to what my next visit would hold.”

  Karen looks up at him speechlessly.

  “Father’s vengeance is served and we are without blood on our hands,” he says with a proud smile. “Now, let’s get to the car, return this hand to its proper owner and enjoy a celebratory meal. I’m famished.”

  She puts her arm around his large waist and says, “Suicide is a mortal sin, right?” as they begin walking towards the car parked at the end of the block.

  “In his religion,” says Znuul, “Eternal damnation is the price, I think.”

  “Good.”