1. Rembrandt - Kathi S. Barton.pdf

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s

imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events,

locations, organizations, or person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

WCP

World Castle Publishing, LLC

Pensacola, Florida

Print ISBN: 9781629891965

eBook ISBN: 9781629891972

First Edition World Castle Publishing, LLC, January 9, 2015

http://www.worldcastlepublishing.com

Licensing Notes

written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.

Cover Art: Karen Fuller

Photographer: Xie4to-graphy

Cover Model: Ethan Dean

Editor: Eric Johnston

Chapter 1

Remy dropped to his knees, slamming his bloodied sword into the stained earth at his feet. His armor

—chest plate and leggings—were covered in the blood of his enemies. Under it, against his battered

body, his blood soaked his skin. Blood and sweat dripped down his back and over open wounds that

would never heal in his lifetime. He knew as surely as he knelt there that he was as good as dead.

“Do not be so hasty, my friend.” Remy looked up. His left eye was either swollen shut or missing, so

it was difficult for him to focus well. “Rembrandt, you have been a good man. Now is not the time for you

to give up.”

“I have nothing left to give. I am finished.” The man laughed, and Remy felt something akin to fear

race over his skin. “I wish only to lie here and let my blood spill upon the ground. My life…I have

nothing left in me that I wish to go on for.”

“I have heard about your wife and children. It is sad when there is so much death during a war. But for

the young and innocent to die like they had…well, it is not what war should be.” Remy felt the pain of

their death again. Fresh as the day he’d found their broken and burned bodies. “I have a need for your

services. You will help me, yes?”

“Nay.” He tried to stand, but it was too much for him, so he leaned heavily against his sword. He was

hurt beyond what was reasonable for a man. He’d been nearly dead twice this day, and he was going to let

the wound in him do its worst. “I’ve a pike in my back that is through me. More broken bones than a

person should have and still be upright. My blood spills upon the earth even as we speak. I’ve done my

share. The war within me is over. I should like to die.”

“Do you not see the carnage that goes on now? Look around you, young Rembrandt. Even now, the

dying are being converted into beings that will someday kill all that matters to everyone. They will walk

the earth for many more years than need be. They will be more of an enemy than you have fought this day.”

Remy closed his eyes against the words. He had no idea what the man spoke of and really, if he was

honest with himself, no longer cared. “But you do, my good man. You always have.”

“What magic is this you use? I have not spoken aloud to you. I have not said these words that you

answer as if you know them.” The man reached.

The magic touched his sight first. He looked around the battlefield and saw the bodies, some he knew,

others he did not, lay back-to-back, head-to-toe all around him. The only spot where there was nothing

was where he now knelt, and soon it would be filled with him.

“See them beyond.” He looked harder, squinting to see the men…no, not men, but things going from

body to body. Lifting up some that had movement, ignoring the dead for the living. Remy watched in

horror as they looked as if they were eating them. Tearing into their throats as if they were a meal to have.

“They do not eat them, Remy, but feed upon their blood. And when they finish, have taken all that they

have had to offer them, they will convert them into what they are. Monsters that will rule the world if not

for men like you. It is what I have come to you about.”

Remy looked at him then. He was dressed all in black and carried a black cane with a silver tip. His

dark hair hung over his shoulder in a braid that seemed to be streaked with red. Remy looked away from

him. For some reason it hurt him to look.

“I have told you now thrice I have nothing to give you. I am sorry for these men or whatever they are,

but I have no will to go on.” Remy watched as one of his own men was taken to the mouth of one of the

creatures. He had fought a good fight but lost when the creature snapped him in half and drank from him

anyway. When he was dropped to the ground, Augustus sat up and looked right at him. Then he stretched

1. Rembrandt - Kathi S. Barton.pdf

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