The Z Chronicles - Book One (sample)

The uneasy silence that fell over the travelling companions as they neared their destination, made Z uncomfortable. Although they all had a singular purpose, a common goal, each man had joined this journey for his own reasons and that Z knew meant that each could be counted on only so far as it suited his own purposes, not that of the group as a whole. This was dangerous for him and his own health, of which he was sure he was the only one concerned. The closer they got to the outpost the more nervous he became, he held no illusions about what was to come but his companions all had very different backgrounds, different feelings, different reasons for going along with the others, really just different ways of seeing things, as a consequence they all had very different, often conflicting ideas about how to accomplish their goal, which Z, from bitter experience knew could lead them all to their deaths. A notion he was none too comfortable with, especially since he was, technically, already dead and didn't fancy the prospect of dying again, even if the only way it could happen is on the off chance his target gleaned his true identity, or one of his companions for that matter, and they decapitated him. Decapitation was the only way he was aware of that he could actually be killed, although he could still appear to die, and the idea didn't appeal, not even a little bit. His ruse about his identity had held up so far, along with the need to travel only at night which seemed reasonable enough to his companions due to the nature of their journey. Still that familiar twinge in his subconscious that had more than once kept him alive was now gnawing at him stronger than ever nevertheless the necessity of his journey would not let him turn back now. No, he had travelled too far and endured too much to turn back now, the mere thought of abandoning his vow left a sickly bitter taste in his mouth. Just then the rider at the front of their line halted and gave sign that the rest of them, should as well. 

''What is it, Cal?'' inquired Z, as he pulled up reign beside the slender figure of Cal McClean.

Although slender in frame Cal was not to be discounted he had been trained with the best of the best, the *group name*, and his vision was almost as perspicacious as Z's immortal vision, his mind as sharp as The Honjo Masamune(1) on is back, his conclusions as accurate as The Arashigiri Masamune(2) on his belt, his reflexes as close to Z's own as any human he had ever met, his value in battle had been proven time and again in this past few months. 

''Not sure Z'' Cal replied in hushed tones 

‘‘Maybe nothing, but then again...'' his voice trailed off not needing further comment for they both knew what the ''then again'' could be. 

Z scanned the horizon his impeccable vision picking out every detail as no human eye ever could, and there it was a slight movement of a stand of trees they would pass through, there was not even a hint of a breeze so there must be someone or something down there. It could just as easily be a bird or animal seeking the shelter of the trees but it also could just as easily be one of the things that had been stalking this province ever since the Necromancer Mangind Derous had moved his dwellings here seven months past. 

Z turned to the rest and ordered them wait there. 

Cal began to protest ''But...'' 

Z cut him off coldly ''But nothing, you will wait here with the others Cal, Do you hear me?'' 

''Yes, of course, I understand.'' Cal answered grudgingly. 

Z dismounted and with an unnatural silence of step moved off towards the stand of trees below them in the slight valley indicative of the ever rolling hills of this area. As he came closer he stops, to once again scan the trees, sure enough there in the small clearing inside the stand were three of the things Derous had created or summoned or whatever it was he did to get such unnatural help, in a slightly self-deprecating way Z laughed, ''you're not exactly what one would call natural either, old boy'' he chided himself silently. He was unnatural to be sure, but he was at least competent, aware, and capable of his own thought. These things were little more than undead puppets of a cruel and twisted puppet master and although he shared their undead state his loathing for them knew no bounds but his loathing and lust for revenge on their master was far greater and had inspired this little journey in the first place. While thinking about this he had dispatched the three Zombies, he had heard the humans call them that although technically correct it was the incorrect term for these creatures, for Zombies had a purpose, a single function on what was left of their brains "consume living flesh and kill" these creatures on the other hand had no such drive, nor will, nor compunction for anything that was not directly given to them by way of magic by the foul and loathsome human that had summoned them. The name for these things was Lacrima - meaning weep in Latin - for the souls who once inhabited the bodies weep for their current use and long to see them put back to rest in the graves from where the evil ones who command them have raised them.