LEGACY (EBOOK)

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SEVENTEEN NOVELS & SHORT STORIES
Hunted (Book 1)
First Death (Short Story 1)
Dancing Blades (Short Story 2)
The Meeting (Short Story 3)
Warrior (Book 2)
The Warrior Monk (Short Story 4)
Empire (Book 3)
The Hunger (Short Story 5)
Legacy (Book 4)
The Bank Job (Short Story 6)
Origins (Book 5)
Destiny (Book 6)

January 1599. Polar Urals. Western Russia.

The immortal bit back a curse as his boots sank in a snowdrift. He struggled out of the icy clutches of the land and carried on climbing, his eyes never leaving the dark shape moving between the trees above him. The figure suddenly stopped and turned. A flash bloomed in the gloom of the evergreen forest.

The immortal heard the crack of the pistol’s discharge a moment before the lead ball thudded into the trunk of a birch, just inches from his head. He dropped to the ground, wood chips raining down around him and the sulfurous smell of burning gunpowder tainting the crisp, cold air. A further bang drowned out the agitated barks of the sled dogs in the outbuilding next to the log cabin at the bottom of the rise. The second shot smacked through the tightly-packed snow next to his hand. He swore and rolled behind a cluster of bushes. He rocked to a stop and peered around the edge of the snow-laden branches as the echo of the blast died down.

His prey was disappearing into the shadows beneath the canopy.

The immortal jumped to his feet and gave chase once more, his breath leaving his lips in white plumes. A bitter wind whistled down the flank of the mountain and stung his frost-crusted eyes and exposed skin. Down below, the sled dogs started to howl. The immortal clenched his jaw against the burning pain in his lungs and legs and willed his body forward.

Dazzling light greeted him at the summit of the rise. He staggered to a halt in calf-deep snow and squinted in the glare. His stomach lurched.

The forest ended abruptly on the edge of a rising ice field. Beyond it, a glacier rose to the summit of the peak, a white scar spread across miles of jagged, dark rocks. Sunlight reflected off towering cliffs and precipitous valleys, the shimmering brilliance masking the deadliness of the hostile landscape. Some hundred feet ahead, barely visible in the blinding radiance, the man he had been hunting for nearly two centuries scaled the treacherous incline.

The immortal removed the musket rifle strapped to his backpack, his gaze locked on the running figure. He shouldered the weapon, cocked the hammer, and carefully sighted down the barrel. Blood pounded in his ears as he held his breath and pulled the trigger.

Flint struck steel. Sparks flared as gunpowder ignited. The lead shot erupted from the muzzle of the gun and flashed through the air, its path straight and true.

The man he was chasing jerked and cried out. He stumbled down to one knee and clamped a hand to his right flank. He swayed for a moment, pushed himself up, and turned to fire his weapon once more. The shot whistled harmlessly into the treetops. He threw the pistol to the ground and started to climb again.

Rage darkened the immortal’s vision. He had waded through thousands of miles of godforsaken wilderness before finally tracking down the man who had killed his lover and who posed the greatest threat the immortal societies had ever known. Having lost precious moments dispatching the bodyguards who stood watch over the remote hideout in the Urals, he had come within seconds of killing his enemy when the man escaped his grasp once more, rescued by the same uncanny luck that had been his savior for the last two hundred years.

The immortal shoved the rifle into its straps and headed over the ice.

Despite the wound, his prey accelerated and angled for a black outcrop rising out of the glacier to the far left.

Cold air seared the immortal’s throat as he pursued the bleeding figure. He had just reached the crimson trail staining the pristine snow when a distant boom reached his ears. He stopped and looked up.

Movement on the slope some six thousand feet above him caught his gaze. A wall of whiteness slowly detached itself from the face of the mountain.

The wounded man froze in his tracks. He stared at the approaching avalanche before moving once more, his legs pumping awkwardly through the snow as he raced for the shelter of the spur of rock.

The immortal followed, despair sending a fresh burst of energy through his body. No, not now, not when I am this close!

The deluge rushed inexorably closer, a tidal wave of death dancing gracefully down the incline.

The immortal staggered after his prey, his resolve unshaken, air leaving his body in harsh gasps. The land rocked violently beneath his feet. He floundered and lost his footing. A thunderous explosion tore the air as he fell to his knees. A large crack appeared in the glacier in front of him.

The immortal’s eyes widened. A cold blast knocked him sideways and sent him tumbling along the incline. He rolled and slid to a stop on his stomach some twenty feet down the slope. The roar of the approaching maelstrom of snow and ice echoed against the looming peaks and vales. The fissure lengthened. He blinked and saw a jagged line dart inches past his right hand before snaking toward the distant tree line behind him.

He scrambled backward as a dark crevasse opened in the ice sheet. The ground crumbled beneath him. His stomach dropped. He yanked his sword from the scabbard on his back and stabbed the blade frantically upward.

It sank into the edge of the ice just as he started to fall. He dangled from the hilt for a shocked moment before slowly looking down at the yawning darkness between his legs. His breath froze in his throat, the fear that gripped him almost paralyzing in its intensity. He gritted his teeth and reached up with his free hand, his flailing fingers searching desperately for purchase. They closed on the lip of the widening chasm.

The avalanche became a deafening howl that eclipsed the rapid drumbeat of his pulse. He looked over his shoulder.

His prey had reached the rocky outcrop and was crouched beneath it, his body braced for impact. Their eyes met through a thickening mist of fine snow. The wounded man smiled, his gaze full of dark triumph.

The immortal closed his eyes. Despair formed a tightening band around his heart as he steeled himself for what was to come.

The white torrent washed over the crevasse, pounding him with a cold, deadly weight that knocked the air out of his lungs. A rock smashed into his fingers, breaking skin and bone. He choked back a cry and swallowed a mouthful of snow.

The sword shuddered in his grasp. He let go of the edge of the chasm and clung to the hilt with both hands. Blood made his grip slippery. Another crack reached his ears. He looked up through the gray haze and glimpsed the fracture tearing through the ice holding the blade. It collapsed a second later.

He fell into the abyss, sword in hand.

Wind whistled in his ears. White walls rushed past him. The light faded as the deluge followed him into the gulf.

Soaring cliffs of black rock replaced the walls of ice as he fell through the crevasse into the very bowels of the mountain itself. Then the rock disappeared.

He had a vague impression of a gaping, empty void before he struck the ground.

Pain exploded through his consciousness, blocking out sight and sound. He felt his bones shatter. The earth shifted beneath him once more. Icy liquid suddenly flooded his throat. He gasped and choked. As freezing numbness engulfed his body, dulling the agony searing his senses, the immortal blinked and registered the clear waters surrounding him in dull incomprehension.

Darkness descended from above. The rest of the avalanche crashed down around him.

His fingers slowly loosened on the hilt of his sword. His final thought before darkness and silence locked him in the icy grave of the underground lake was that no one in the immortal societies knew of the danger that was still to come.