Jacob Emrey
Coming Soon
Dear reader of fantasy,
Are you frustrated that George R.R. Martin is still working on Winds of Winter or that there is only one Joe Abercrombie? If so, I have good news, "The Siege of Lothbrook" is here and it will scratch that itch while you wait. It's an exciting stand alone novel (no need to get caught up in another endless fantasy series) with a rugged knight who loves his mother, greedy bankers who love their money, and a beautiful actress who loves herself. The book has something for everyone with action, adventure, and even some bad humor. If you have that fantasy itch, The Siege of Lothbrook is sure to scratch it.
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Sincerely,
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Jacob Emrey
The Siege of Lothbrook
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The city of Lothbrook is doomed. It is only a matter of time before the Bailic armies break through the walls and unleash great violence upon the city’s innocent subjects. However, the king’s alchemist has concocted a surprise for the Bailic hoard. He has infected the citizens with the harrowing ability to rise from the dead and enact savage revenge. Of course, he told no one about his little plan so when the finance minister kidnaps the king to force a truce it all goes very badly. And then there is the sergeant of the guard Otto Grunt. A fierce warrior known as the Beast of the Tyne and feared by all, except his mother. This hulking brute is willing to do whatever it takes to make sure his mum survives the siege. This leaves Anamara, a gifted actress, obsessed with fame and to her delight has been given the gift to control the city’s growing undead population. They are an unlikely trio but find they will need each other if they are going to save thier city and themselves.
Prologue
Two tugs, and the noose felt sturdy. The beauty of a noose, Vasputin mused, was that it only had to work once—because that was all the alchemist needed. Beyond the dangling rope and the walls of the city were thousands of small lights, each one a campfire keeping enemy soldiers warm. Vasputin could imagine armored men squatting in lazy circles around each glowing dot, gloating about how many fine subjects of Lothbrook they would murder or how many women they would rape. Despicable people, those Bailic.
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A part of Vasputin wished he could take up arms and fight them, tooth and nail, when they breached the gates. But he knew better. Vasputin was no soldier. He had spent his life in laboratories, surrounded by vials and fumes, mixing elixirs and concocting potions. As the king’s trusted physician and alchemist, his battles were fought with mortar and pestle, not sword and shield.
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The city was doomed. The Eastern King had wanted Lothbrook for decades, and now he was finally here to take it. Vasputin had urged His Majesty not to resist, arguing that if he simply submitted to the will of the foreign king, the city would be spared, and only the king’s coffers would need to make a sacrifice. But it was too much for the pompous, greedy fool.
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“No one has ever breached these walls,” the king had gloated, spewing bits of chicken.
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Vasputin didn’t bother pointing out that while the stone walls had been great at keeping out peasant rebellions, he wasn’t sure how they would fare against a proper army. Now he knew: not so well at all. Although the battlements were holding, the Bailic army had devised an ingenious strategy to bring down the drawbridge. Day and night, barbed javelins were launched at the heavy oak. Upon penetration, they latched on, and the invaders used their vast numbers to pull it down over the moat. It was inevitable.
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In fact, by his calculations, the drawbridge would fall within two days, and a horde of sexually depraved, morally corrupt, and lavishly greedy monsters from Bail would pour through the breach and into the city.
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His eyes rolled over the hundreds of hovels and huts that spidered out from the keep. Nearly sixteen thousand kind and hardworking subjects lay within his gaze—old and young, smart and foolish, rich and poor—all about to be slaughtered by Bailic barbarians. Such a pity.
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But Vasputin had a surprise for them. A bit of old magic hidden away in the mysteries of alchemy.
At one of his tables rested two large cauldrons, one half-full with a blue liquid and the other with a yellow liquid. He carefully scooped out a portion of each potion into separate glass containers and tied them precariously together with a bit of twine. His toothless smile twisted back at him from the round glass bottoms.
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These kind people would have the last laugh.
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It was an ancient elixir that very few knew. It had started as a potion for immortality, but the side effects were most heinous, and so it was filed away in an ancient tome, only to be stumbled upon by his former master. Now, it would be the swan song of Lothbrook.
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He put his thin lips to the glass—a kiss of death for the Bailic horde. For each subject fortunate enough to inhale his concoction and then meet their death at the hands of the invaders, they would rise again with an undead vengeance.
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Vasputin extended his scrawny arms out the window. After a quick glance down the nine stories to the cobblestones below, he released the vials.
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There was a satisfying moment of silent bliss between release and impact, and then the vials shattered. An eerie green mist began to spread through the streets like steam bubbling from a pot. It was done.
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Vasputin stepped onto the window ledge and slipped the noose over his neck. He knew he should go down into the mist to suffer the same fate he had imposed on the fine inhabitants of the city, but he had convinced himself that sometimes it was better to be a coward. Honor, after all, was full of suffering and death.
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Not that he was avoiding death, but at least his death would be final.
Before stepping from the ledge, he gave the city one last look. His eyes settled on a distant tavern, and he smiled.
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“Good luck, my dear.”
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One last check below revealed the mist spreading nicely. He looked out at the enemy army and sneered. Then he stepped from the ledge.
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He felt a sharp pain at the base of his skull, and then...