The
Wizard Killer
Season
1
by
Adam Dreece
Genre:
Post-Apocalyptic, Fantasy
"Harry
Potter meets Die Hard" - M. Bybee, WereBook.org
"Madmax
meets Lord of the Rings" - Goodreads.com
A
world once at the height of magical technology and social order has
collapsed. How and why are the least of the wizard killer’s
worries.
Leaning
my bloody head against the back of the crashed levitating carriage, I
flex my cramped fingers. With a renewed grip on the mana-pistol, I
steal a quick breath. The others better wake up fast, otherwise we’re
all going to burn.
Written
using a binge-TV show model, Season 1 contains 20 pulse-pounding
episodes, and is an all new side to best-selling YA author, Adam
Dreece.
“…an
intense action movie-style romp through a wonderfully detailed
fantasy world. I freaking LOVED this story! I loved the cinematic
feel, I loved the action scenes, I loved the characters. It is like
Harry Potter meets Die Hard” — M Bybee, WereBooks.org, 5 Stars
"...imaginative
and compelling series that is quite difficult to stop reading. Dreece
knows exactly how to build and then neatly tie up each episode, while
leaving the reader wanting more.... highly recommended."
- Reviewed by Jack Magnus for Readers' Favorite, 5 Stars
Amazon
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The
Wizard Killer
Season
2
Kill
me with a floating city? You got my attention. But then steal from me
and try to burn me alive? You got me thinking.
I
think I’m going to find your yigging, walking carcass and introduce
it to two friends of mine: pain and vengeance.
By
the way, I borrowed a lightning rifle. Don’t worry, I’ll return
it… empty.
See
you soon,
The
Wizard Killer
Season
Two kicks everything up a notch with 22 all-new, action-packed
episodes!
Amazon
* B&N
* GooglePlay
* Apple
* Kobo
* Smashwords
Episode 3 (Part 1 of a Flashback Scene)
"Hey!" yells a deep voice, followed
by a hard shove.
I stumble backwards, disoriented, knocking
over the chair I must have been in. I hit the wall and slump down. My head
feels two sizes too small. Where am I? Why’s my heart racing?
The smell of stale and rancid beer immediately
assaults my nose, clearing some of the fog in my mind and waking me up.
Looking down at what’s on my hands, I’m
distracted by the floor’s shiny, orange-and-brown sheen. Half my brain tells me
the stuff on my hands feels like sandpaper; the other half, like dried
snot.
My eyes go from the floor to my sleeve, and
then to how I’m dressed. I'm wearing matching brown pants, vest, and long
coat—all neatly pressed. On the uneven table in front of me sits a brown,
bowl-shaped hat.
After a momentary debate of whether to rub my
eyes, I decide against it and gaze about the rest of the bar, ignoring the
figure standing beside me.
The tavern has ‘rock bottom’ written all over
it. The dingy walls and bowing ceiling don't do it any favors. There are a few
high windows, though I suspect they've never been cleaned, and thankfully
they’re keeping most of the morning light at bay.
The man standing beside me goes to flick my
ear, and I slap his hand, glaring at him.
He clears his throat and glares back at me.
He's got a tall, stocky frame and a big, bushy beard that is dark brown with a
white streak from lip to chin. In one of his meaty hands is a black bowl hat,
his wiry hair showing that he's been wearing it for a good part of the day
already.
Under his dark long coat is a red-and-silver
vest with the chain of a pocket watch showing. Most importantly, he's got a
two-bar, tin rectangle pinned on the outside of his coat and the scowl of
authority to accompany it.
“Sheriff,” I say grudgingly.
His face relaxes a touch. “I’ve had to look
all over town for you. You’ve almost missed your time to meet with the
librarian, and if you miss this one, there ain’t going to be another. Now get
up and get moving. She doesn't stay in one place long. And if a Scourge patrol
finds her? You’re going to be looking over both shoulders every minute of every
day until you’re having a dirt nap.”
I put a hand out.
He reluctantly grabs it and hauls me to my
feet. My head’s throbbing, and the empty beer mugs on the table tell me why.
Rolling my other shoulder, it barks at me painfully.
"Mother of Mercy," I say under my
breath. I must have done something to it when I fell off my chair… or last
night. All that remains of what happened is a vague hint, nothing more. I can’t
remember walking into this place or drinking a thing. All the consequences and
none of the fun, that’s no way to live.
“I know that look,” he grumbles, a
disapproving smirk on his face. “When you strolled into town yesterday, I told
you to stay away from the black beer. That stuff will knock the smile off a
horse. I also told you not to play cards with the three sisters who run the
place. From what I heard this morning, you’re lucky they left you with your
dignity, never mind your clothes.”
I grimace as the shoulder pain subsides a bit.
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Good. Now put some gloves on," he
says pointing at my bare hands.
I pull my sleeves up and stare at my arms.
“Where are my tattoos?”
The sheriff raises an eyebrow. “I was talking
about your hands.” He takes one of my hands and turns it sideways. There’s a
blue line that runs along the edge, disappearing up my sleeve. I look at my
other hand, it’s there too.
“Unlike most folk, I don’t care where you came
from, and I care even less what horrible things happened to you to put that on
you. I’m sure it’s why the librarian will meet with you, but I don’t want to
know.”
He bends down and picks up a pair of gloves
from under the table. “Put these on.” He then hands me my hat. “Keep your head
down, and no one should notice the line at your neck.” He leans in. “You
remember that much, don’t you?”
I nod and put the gloves and hat on.
"You all good?"
"Yeah,” I reply.
We step out of the bar and into the blinding,
dusty outdoors. The sky's got a familiar red haze to it. My fingers start
rubbing together like they’re pulling on a fishing line with an unwilling
memory on the end of it.
There's about two dozen people walking about,
all of them dressed up beyond what I'd expect for an outskirts town. Most of
the women have shiny dresses and parasols, and most of the men long coats and
hats. Either this place is rich in something, or it’s got a secret that some
pay handsomely for.
Glancing about at the two-storey buildings and
dirt-road nature of the town, knots start to form in my stomach. I’m not sure
if I’m paranoid, or I remember something, but I’ve got a bad feeling about the
place.
I nudge the sheriff and point at the red haze.
“What’s that?”
He gives me a wide-eyed glare. “You stupid or
something?”
I frown at him.
Leaning in, he whispers. “It ain’t smart to
bring up the affairs of wizards and the like.”
I’m tempted to ask something else, but am
interrupted by the image of a floating city being built. Mana leaks… it’s one
of the things that can lead to this haze, I remember. Looking again, my stomach
turns as I’m sure there’s something far worse going on than building a floating
city.
“Come on, people’ll start staring,” he says,
leading the way.
I keep my head tilted down as people walk by.
"They’re building that pretty close to a town, aren’t they? I thought they
were always paranoid about that type of thing.”
He gives me a sharp glare and gets right in my
face, his hand resting atop the pistol on his hip. “I believe in upsetting the
apple cart a bit every now and then. That’s why I’m helping you. There are
things most unnatural happening, and they’ve got to stop. But I need you to
understand; I ain’t going to risk my life or this town.”
I slowly nod. Everyone likes to be a little
bit of a rebel.
“Wizards have eyes and ears everywhere. I’ve
heard a man mention a certain one, and then out of nowhere appears a hot-headed
acolyte with the powers of a god and trigger-happy soldiers with something to
prove.” He pulls back and straightens his vest. “Now, shut up or I’ll shoot
you. We clear?” He flashes a politician's smile and starts moving.
Across the street’s a two-storey building with a
sign reading General Store. There’s an old man, bald,
staring at me.
I stare back. There’s something about him,
like he’s a person standing among paintings, something that makes him more real
than the rest.
Taking a step into the road, the sheriff
immediately gets in front of me and shoves me back. “I think we’re having a
communication problem.”
I point at the general store, but there’s no
one there. “I thought I saw someone I know.”
“Doubt it,” he replies with a scoff.
I look first at the store’s door, which
doesn’t look like it’s closing, and then around, but there’s no sign of him.
The only thing out of place is a faint buzzing in my head. Strange. I can
remember every detail of the man’s face. I swear I’ve seen him before… just not
here.
Shaking it off, I follow the sheriff for a few
blocks before tapping him on the shoulder.
He turns around, his face showing his
frustration.
I raise a finger. “Do you hear that? There’s
like— a clicking.”
He listens for a moment. “Might be coming from
the trailer house,” he says gesturing at a long building coming up. “That’s
where we have the levi-cars. A few horses, too. Sometimes those levis make
funny noises when people are working on them.”
As we continue walking, I keep glancing about,
unable to shake the feeling of being watched.
I perch my sweaty hands on my belt, feel
something. Looking down, I see I’ve got an empty holster on one side. On the
other, I’ve got an empty place for a knife. Yig, maybe there was something to
that three sisters thing.
Finally, he stops and turns around, leaning
towards the light-blue door of the white-washed two-storey building. Glancing
around the main street, I’m sure that clicking sound is not coming from the
levi’s place.
The sheriff takes his hat off and taps twice
on the door with his knuckles. He listens for a second, then straightens up and
puts his hat back on. “Go on in. You’ve got five minutes, and then you need to
get out of here.”
I narrow my eyes at him, tempted to ask why.
He rolls his shoulders and scans the street,
his hands resting on his pistols. Glancing at me, he’s got an anxious look in
his eye. “Go on. Clock’s ticking.”
I start to push on the door and stop. “You
hear it too, don’t you? It’s like… like hollow bone being hit on hollow bone.”
“Doesn’t matter. Scourge spies are going to
know something’s up soon and I’m not going to have this town known as the place
where the only free librarian died.”
My palms are sweaty, my heart's racing.
Something bad is about to happen. I just don't know what.
Adam
Dreece kicked off his indie author career with his best-selling
steampunk meets fairy tale series, The Yellow Hoods, which struck a
chord with kids 9-15 and adults. After four books in the series, the
former software architect put out two more young adult books, the
post-apocalyptic fantasy book The Wizard Killer – Season One, and
then his science fiction novel, The Man of Cloud 9. The first two
novels in The Yellow Hoods series, as well as The Wizard Killer, have
been finalists for Book of the Year awards from the Independent
Author’s Network.
When
he’s not working on his next book, Adam can be found giving talks
at schools, libraries, associations, as well as comic-con type events
like CalgaryExpo and FanExpoCanada on subjects from how to get one’s
ideas out and stepping outside of one’s comfort zone, to how to
give a successful book signing.
Along
the way, Adam has faced many challenges, including working around his
Dyslexia (reading and writing disorder), and needing to be ruthless
with his time and energy in face of his severe asthma and chronic
abdominal scar pain. He’s become an inspiration to some, and a
symbol of tenacious hard work to others.
He
lives in Calgary, Alberta, Canada with his wife and children. He is
an active online mentor at adamdreece.com, and is a busy public
speaker, panelist, and author in Canada and the Pacific Northwest.
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