Feature: Blade the Destroyer by Andy Peloquin
The Last Bucelarii (Book 1): Blade of the Destroyer
The Hunter of Voramis is the perfect assassin: ruthless,
unrelenting, immortal. Yet he is haunted by lost memories, bonded to a cursed
dagger that feeds him power yet denies him peace of mind. Within him rages an
unquenchable need for blood and death.
When he accepts a contract to avenge the stolen innocence of
a girl, the Hunter becomes the prey. The death of a seemingly random target
sends him hurtling toward destruction, yet could his path also lead to the
truth of his buried past?
Reviews
"Creative, gritty, and beautifully dark...fantasy
addicts will love it!" -- Peter Story, author of Things Grak Hates -- http://peterjstory.com/
"The fantasy world has a compelling new antihero…the
Hunter will terrify and captivate you." - Eve A Floriste, author of Fresh Cut
"From the first words on the page this fantasy holds
the reader spellbound even after the book is finished…his character is very
well-defined even if his past is a mystery. Root for an assassin? Oh, yes, one
must!" -- Carol Conley, for InDTale
Magazine
Andy Peloquin--a third culture kid to the core--has loved to
read since before he could remember. Sherlock
Holmes, the Phantom of the Opera,
and Father Brown are just a few of
the books that ensnared his imagination as a child.
When he discovered science fiction and fantasy through the pages
of writers like Edgar Rice Burroughs, J.R.R Tolkien, and Orson Scott Card, he
was immediately hooked and hasn't looked back since.
Andy's first attempt at writing produced In the Days: A Tale
of the Forgotten Continent. He has learned from the mistakes he made and
used the experience to produce Blade of the Destroyer, a book of which
he is very proud.
Reading—and now writing—is his favorite escape, and it provides
him an outlet for his innate creativity. He is an artist; words are his
palette.
His website (http://www.andypeloquin.com)
is a second home for him, a place where he can post his thoughts and
feelings--along with reviews of books he finds laying around the internet.
He can also be found on his social media pages, such as:
Twitter: https://twitter.com/AndyPeloquin
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/andyqpeloquin
Amazon Paperback: http://www.amazon.com/Blade-Destroyer-Last-Bucelarii-Book/dp/1515038955/
Excerpt
Eyes the color of night watched Lord
Damuria's body plunge to the forest floor. The wind seemed to hold the nobleman
suspended in the air for a moment before slowly releasing his body to the
grasping clutches of gravity.
The
hard, dark face of the Hunter showed no sign of pity as the body landed with a
loud thud at his feet.
It is no more than he deserves, he thought.
The
Hunter had no idea why Lord Damuria
deserved death, nor did he care. He had been paid, and that was all that
mattered.
He
felt no remorse as he watched the broken man fight for his last pitiful,
agonizing breaths. Not given to mercy, the fear in Lord Damuria's eyes meant
nothing.
Soot
and mud stained the nobleman's robes, his bright crimson blood contrasting
sharply with the white blond of his hair. Where Damuria's hands had once been,
only stumps remained. The Hunter's broad-headed crossbow bolts had sliced
through bone and tendon, severing the man's hands at the wrist. The bolts were
buried deep in the stone of the cliff, still stained with Damuria's blood.
The
nobleman struggled to speak, made difficult by the quarrel puncturing his
lungs. The Hunter bent close to hear the whispered words.
"Do…it…you…bastard."
Lord Damuria's eyes closed as he awaited the inevitable.
The
Hunter moved with precision and speed, drawing the dagger from his belt and
plunging it deep into the dying man's chest. The thrust snapped ribs and sliced
through smooth heart muscle. Damuria's screams echoed in the silence of the
forest, an eerie sound tinged with desperation and terror.
The
screams of his victims always remained with him long after their deaths. They
played over and over in his mind, accompanied by the vision of their dying
faces.
Bright
ruby light flared from the gem set in the hilt of the dagger, and power rushed
through the blade. The Hunter gasped as the voice in his mind screamed its
pleasure. The familiar pain flared along his back, but he was accustomed to it.
This pain was the price he paid for the power.
This, he thought, reveling in
the sensations flooding through him, this
is why I do it.
A
final shudder ran through the broken body before him, and the cries of agony
faded into a gentle whisper. "Fucking…Hunter…" Damuria cursed with
his dying breath.
Silence
reigned in the forest, broken only by the sound of the wind whistling through
the trees. After the thrill of the chase, the stillness hung like a weight on
the Hunter's mind. A tremble ran through his calloused hands as he gripped the
worn hilt of the knife embedded in his latest kill, his long, lean muscles
bulging in his effort to wrench the blade free. The knife was caught on the
dead man's ribs, and pulling it free required a surprising amount of effort,
even with the Hunter's immense strength.
Blood
glistened on the blade, and the Hunter watched it soak into the steel. The
bright red light leaking from the gem slowly dimmed, and the stone became
translucent and colorless once more.
The dagger has been sated. He no
longer heard the insistent voice in his head urging him to kill. It will remain silent, for now.
The
Hunter sheathed his blade and stooped to kneel over the lifeless form of his
prey. Placing one hand on the man's head and the other on his now-silent heart,
he bowed his head.
"May
the Long Keeper take your body; your soul is forfeit," the Hunter intoned.
His voice was rich and deep with a hint of gravel. A hard voice, reciting a
final ritual for fallen prey. A ritual from a past he could no longer remember.
He
stared down at the broken body lying at his feet.
This one was surprisingly difficult to
track down.
Green
blood now oozed from the dead man's severed wrists, staining the forest canopy
a sickly color. The scent of poisoned flesh hung in the air—the effects of the
venomous argam with which he coated the bolts, the Hunter knew.
A fit creature for the hunt. A
sense of satisfaction flooded him. Another
contract fulfilled.
He had
killed all manner of men. Big men, little men, strong men, weak men. Cowards,
and brave fools. Heroes, villains, rich men, beggars.
He was the Hunter, and all men were his prey.
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