Isilian: Book 1 Lone Wolf

By Gabriel T Grinder

If you like the silent powerful character of Geralt of Rivia in The Witcher, you'll love the irreverent Isilian, hunter of menacing creatures and lover of women, whose skill in battle, sardonic sense of humor, and deep sense of right and wrong drive this epic fantasy novella. As the lone survivor of the Scho

• Language: English
• Publisher: Indy Pub
• Release date: Aug 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781087974866

Book preview

Prologue

As the hooded figure rode, his mind wandered, thinking about his pay for the large contract he had just fulfilled, and about the warm dinner waiting for him at the School. The road here was worn, well-traveled, and the hills were starting to give way to the flat plain where the School stood. A sack hung over the side of his gray horse.

He smelled the smoke before he saw it, and as he reached the top of the hill in front of him, there, where the well-defended, impenetrable School should have been, rose a plume of black smoke and ashes.

Gripping the reins of his horse, he picked up speed. As he approached the massive stone structure he leaped from his mount. Pulling his blade, he ran through the now-broken gate. He coughed as he made his way into a courtyard, his nose and mouth suddenly full of smoke and ash, the heat burning his eyes.

There in the middle of a pool of blood lay a body, nearly lifeless.

He ran to the man lying in the pool of blood and knelt down next to him. The man's eyes barely opened. He lifted his hand to the hunter, who reached out, taking the hand in his.

Brother, what happened here? the hunter asked, coughing. Looking down, he saw chunks of flesh torn from the man's body.

The hunter's eyes caught movement at the door. He looked up just in time to see a hooded figure wearing a dark robe with a scarlet red rose on the side disappear into the darkness. As he started to get up, he felt the man's hand clutching him tightly.

He looked into the man's bloodstained face, watching as he coughed up blood. Tell me who did this, Braxton. Who attacked our school.

Braxton looked up into the hunter's eyes. We were betrayed, brother. The ones we hunted … we were no match for them. The priest … sold our location to our prey. They … abandoned us. He … wanted to know about you, brother, he said, coughing up more blood.

Me? Who wanted to know about me? What about me did he want? And why didn't the church send aid? We are their weapon in the night. And where is Orlock? He would never let this happen, the hunter said.

Braxton's hand went soft. Leaning his head back, he let go of the hunter’s hands and fell to the ground.

The hunter reached down, closing Braxton's eyes. Rest now, friend, he said softly.

Looking up, he felt a surge of anger. His eyes roamed the courtyard. Bodies of the new recruits lay in pieces. Veteran hunters had been torn limb from limb. He walked around the corpses, his heart burning hotter and hotter. He lifted his mask, covering his mouth as the air became thick with ash and smoke. The smell of burning flesh stung his nose. He spotted prints in the blood-soaked earth. Running over to them, he knelt down. No way these are human, he thought to himself. He searched around and found more prints.

Standing up slowly, he followed them. They led him back to the body of his fallen brother.

He knelt down, taking a knife from his belt. Cutting his hand, he placed it over Braxton's lifeless body. I promise you, brother, I will find who is behind this slaughter. No matter how long it takes.

Standing, he looked across the blood-soaked ground. He reached over and picked up a silver sword next to Braxton's body. Wiping it clean, he slid it back into its scabbard on Braxton's back. He lifted the body in his arms and made his way out of the burning wreckage, carrying it several yards before laying it down.

Several hours later he stood next to the body of his brother-in-arms, which was lying atop a large wood pyre. The hunter held a torch in his hand. He watched the morning sun as it illuminated the pyre. Firmly holding the torch, he lit the wood. Stepping back, he watched as flames leaped into the air, a cloud of smoke rising. Birds sang in the trees, but he never heard them, his heart still burning with the heat of the fire. He watched as the body burned.

Lifting his hood, he turned and walked over to his horse. He grabbed the reins and looked into the animal's eyes. Tell me, Ash. Tell me which way to go.

Isilian mounted the horse. He pulled his hood up over his head, his heart now cold. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, his senses sharper. Go, Ash. We have a target to catch.

The gray horse neighed, then champed at the bit and tugged them off into the rising sun.

* * *

The woman's eyes lifted from the painting in front of her, the paintbrush clutched tightly in her delicate fingers. She had painted a scene of flames and ash, a burning building in the background. Her eyes gazed into that of the man's in the portrait as the trance of foresight lifted and her senses cleared. Who are you? she thought.

The figure stood in front of the burning structure, flames and smoke behind him illuminating his figure. There were two blades over his shoulders. A crest of a wolf adorned his blood-soaked leather armor. His long red hair fell over half of his face. His eyes were as deep blue as the seas. He held a silver necklace in his hand, with a medallion engraved with the head of a wolf.

The ground at his feet, stamped with strange footprints, was so soaked in blood it didn't even look like ground any more.

She couldn't move her eyes from his. Whoever you are, you have the most unique eyes. Almost wolflike. Her fingers gently traced over the man's face. You have such anger in your eyes, she said softly.

After a moment of looking at the portrait she called out, Killian!

There was a knock on the door. Yes, m’lady, said a tall man, standing in the doorway and bowing to her.

Killian, I need you to find out who this man is. Use any means at your disposal. And coin is no object, understand me?

Yes, Lady Siethara. It shall be done, the tall slender servant said. His sandy blond hair almost covered his eyes as he bowed. Shall I send the raven to your family as well? They are well connected and may know more.

The woman looked at him for a long moment. I hate to involve my family, you know that, but you are right.

Yes, m’lady, he said. As he began to turn from the door, he paused for a moment, then asked, Shall I prepare a bath for m’lady?

The woman's eyes were still fixed on the painting. Yes, Killian, and make sure it’s hot this time. The last bath I had was chilled within minutes.

Very well, m’lady, the servant said, making his way out of the room.

She placed her finger against her lips, turning her head. Where are you going, stranger? she said to the painting.

CHAPTER 1

The hunter clutched the grip of his sword. His eyes were fixed on the snarling beast in front of him. His mind was fixed upon his target, though his vision was blurred by the blinding pain, blood running from the wound over the right side of his face. His unnatural eyes brightened the room, his senses tuned for the kill yet to come, watching the beast snarling in front of him.

Suddenly he remembered there were two werewolves he tracked. Without even thinking he jumped out of the way as he felt the strong claw of the creature behind him, catching him off guard. You idiot, he thought to himself. He had let his mind wander, momentarily forgetting about the second beast. He felt the sharp thick claws tearing into his back, shredding his armor. He righted himself quickly.

Slowly he inched across the blood-soaked floor, over the bodies of the villagers, his eyes now fixed upon the creatures he had sworn to kill. The only light reflecting from his sword came from the moon. The cold air brushed through his long red hair, cutting into his wound. His mind was clear on his goal: to end the suffering of the villagers who had hired him to kill the creatures.

The larger beast lunged forward, its claws long and sharp. The fur was matted with patches of blood glistening in the darkness. Its eyes burned red. The beast's body was large, bulky. As it leaped through the air, its own weight carried it off balance. Quickly the hunter sidestepped and took the strike, his sword coming down, landing firmly behind the monster's head, cutting deeply into the thick fur and flesh. The creature howled in pain for an instant.

The hunter closed his eyes, his skills heightened, savoring the moment. His ears heard the thud as the head hit the floor, and he felt the warm rush of blood past his foot as the huge body landed against him. His heart never missed a beat as he lifted his bloodied sword, ready for the other attack.

He felt the rush of air as he stepped out of the path of attack from the second beast. It caught him off guard, sending him stumbling back. A loud howl pierced the cold air. As he regained his footing he saw the second creature hunched over the lifeless body of the first. He walked slowly up behind, his sword ready to strike, ready to finish off the cursed creature’s life.

His arms suddenly froze, unable