Graham Sword for Hire

The Silent Blade Chronicles
1. Auflage 2011
ISBN: 978-0-9572256-4-0
Verlag: Ecanus Publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: Adobe DRM (»Systemvoraussetzungen)

E-Book, Englisch, 307 Seiten

When an ancient symbol of power is stolen from the wizards' citadel, which stands atop Mount Oragil, a timid teaching wizard named Amvaar is sent to retrieve it. Despite strict orders from the Grand Master of his order to keep his quest a secret Amvaar enlists the help of three people. But as the four new friends venture onwards, they gradually discover that horrifying events from eight hundred years earlier, are about to unfold once again. They also discover that fate has brought them together for a special purpose. Only working together, as The Silent Blade, can the four hope to defeat a terrifying foe, and hopefully save the world.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Graham, David

Leseproben

ONE

VISITORS IN THE NIGHT

Nestling deep within the protection offered by a ring of towering, snow-covered mountains known as The Gollmaas, the waters of Lake Vession shimmered under the light of a full moon. A myriad of brilliant stars filled the night sky, each adding their own measure of silver radiance to the glistening, frost-laden vista.

It was midwinter, a cold and unproductive time, where life stood in wearisome immobility, patiently awaiting the coming of spring. Leafless trees, their naked branches sharply highlighted with sparkling hoarfrost, stood around the shores of the vast lake. The trees rose into the steep foothills that bordered the lower slopes of the Gollmaas Mountains, somewhat softening the severity of the bleak rock. Nothing moved within the chilled night time save the ripples caused by a gentle breeze that wafted over the lakes’ scintillating waters.

Rising with great majesty from the centre of Lake Vession, and bordered by a narrow strip of flat island, stood a solitary, awe-inspiring mountain; Mount Oragil. The ancestral home of the venerated wizards of Endovaar, and the seat of all comprehensible wisdom, not to mention some rather ancient and incomprehensible knowledge. Here, encompassing the uppermost parts of the mountain, the ancient wizards of old had built what is unanimously regarded as the most impressive edifice in the world. Nothing constructed anywhere else on Endovaar ever came close to the rows of magnificent towers with their golden domes, or endless embankments of open-arched porticoes, allied with dozens of immense flying buttresses that fastened the entire, seemingly impossible structure firmly to the mountaintop.

It was late evening and, other than the subdued light from tiny lamps that still shone from the occasional bedroom window, the whole structure stood in total darkness. A complete silence purveyed throughout the darkened corridors and cloisters that entwined their way throughout the citadel. Absolutely nothing, and no-one, stirred. Which is why no-one in the huge citadel could possibly help but hear the sudden high pitched screech that breached the still night air.

The scream seemed to rise from the very soul of Mount Oragil. Then, just as the last heart stopping echoes faded into the night, the scream broke out again, only this time filled with even more hysteria.

High on the upper levels of the citadel’s south-side, where the wizard masters and the rather more important people slept, lamps were being hastily lit. Doors opened along both sides of a wide corridor, wizards, sorceresses, teachers, and various officials poured out of their private rooms and milled around the corridor in hushed confusion. Each of them dressed in their night attire, and all holding a variety of candles and lamps; they shivered in the chilly corridor and gazed around edgily for the source of the scream. No one knew quite what to make of such a disturbance. Never in living memory had such a thing happened to interrupt the peace of the mountain at night, and many of the wizards had lived for an extremely long time, retaining more or less perfect memories. However, not all of the wizards had maintained unblemished memories as they grew older. A few exceptionally ancient wizards now stood in the corridor, huddled in a small group and muttered in nervous senility about demons. Beside them several officials began to whisper urgently amongst themselves. However, because it was common practice to be distrustful when it came to the citadel officials, everyone else in the corridor ignored them.

‘Stand aside,’ said a deeply irritated voice which came from the rear of the corridor. ‘Stand aside, I said, and let me through!’

The small crowd turned to see Master Voranil striding purposefully down the corridor. The head of the wizards’ order was a tall, lean man, with a flat face and small piercing grey eyes. Even wearing his pale blue nightshirt with its matching woolly hat and his brown carpet slippers there was a commanding presence about him, and the assembled crowd quickly moved to let him through.

‘What in the world is going on here?’ Master Voranil demanded angrily as he glared into each confused face in turn. ‘Who was responsible for that terrible scream, come on now, own up?’

There was a short pause as the assembled crowd looked round to see if anyone was going to admit responsibility. One of the officials muttered that it definitely wasn’t him, and several other people shook their heads, then…

‘Err…sir…that is…err; I’m afraid it was Milandra, sir.’

The timid-sounding voice came from a little farther down the corridor. Everyone turned to see a dishevelled head peering nervously from a doorway.

‘Amvaar!’ Master Voranil exclaimed with mild surprise. ‘I might have known you would be responsible. And you had better have a good explanation.’

‘I am really terribly sorry, sir,’ Amvaar replied sheepishly as he stepped with exaggerated caution into the corridor. He limped slightly when he moved, the result of a bad fall he had when he was a boy. He was wearing a long white nightshirt, which was far too big for his painfully thin frame. On his feet he wore a pair of threadbare socks, each one sporting a bare toe that poked out from the frayed wool as if they too were trying to see what all the fuss was about. Amvaar’s pale, gaunt face, with its long hooked nose, was framed by a lengthy mass of straggly, iron-grey hair, with a beard to match. His narrow, sunken, hazel eyes darted anxiously from Master Voranil to the door he had just come through.

‘Err, there was a, well, there was a mouse in our, err, our bedroom, sir,’ he explained weakly. ‘Milandra got such a fright. Scared me out of my wits too, I must say.’

‘What!’ Voranil exploded. Behind him the small crowd began to mutter indignantly about rodents. A few unnerved sorceresses, and two of the more ancient, and extremely deaf wizards, turned to face the wrong way and wondered who had spoken. Voranil moved purposefully down the corridor, his flat face dark with exasperation, the bobble on his woolly hat swinging menacingly from side to side. ‘Utter nonsense, Amvaar. There haven’t been any rodents in Mount Oragil for centuries. You of all people should know that.’

‘Oh, it was there, sir. I saw it myself,’ Amvaar replied, putting as much conviction into his high-pitched voice as he could. He slid a scrawny hand from one voluminous sleeve of his nightshirt and pointed towards his private rooms. ‘Have a look for yourself, sir. I think it ran behind a bookcase.’

Voranil suddenly looked hesitant. Tilting his head to one side, causing the bobble on his hat to swing languidly over his face, he stared warily at Amvaar. ‘Are you sure it was a mouse you saw?’

Amvaar nodded seriously, and began to tick things off on his fingers: ‘A small grey creature, with large ears, a long tail, and makes a squeaking sound? Yes, it was definitely a mouse. Can’t think of anything else that would fit that description, sir?’

For a long moment, Master Voranil was speechless. Mount Oragil had always been a clean and orderly place, where disease ridden pests, which caused the more common illnesses, were kept at bay. This was relatively easy to achieve; with the mountain, sitting on an island, in the middle of a vast lake, it did make it very difficult for vermin, such as mice, rats, cockroaches, and even unwanted humans, to gain access. There was, of course, the ferry down on the east side of the island. However, the ferry was checked for cleanliness at all times, and so too was any cargo it might ship to the island. So it seemed impossible for a mouse to have managed to get onto the island, let alone survive a climb of hundreds of feet, completely unnoticed, into the uppermost parts of the citadel.

‘Right, let me see what this is all about,’ Voranil said with an exasperated sigh. He brushed past Amvaar, and into his private rooms.

The main room in Amvaar’s apartment was actually quite large. However, there were so many bookcases crammed against every available piece of wall space, which in turn were fronted by towering piles of paper on the floor, the room looked positively tiny. Other than the plethora of bookcases, the room was furnished with nothing more than a pair of over-stuffed chairs, a shabby-looking desk, and a small round table. A variety of candles and small oil lamps gave off what light they could manage, creating as they did weird shadows between the books and piles of paper. On the desk stood an odd-looking metal tripod that clutched a glowing stone in curved metallic fingers. This, Amvaar had created in a vain attempt to add more light to the room.

Standing behind one of the threadbare chairs with her face buried in her hands, was the slender figure of Amvaar’s wife, Milandra. She was almost as tall as Amvaar and, although she was older than his one hundred and seventy three years, she looked much younger; in fact Milandra only looked to be about forty. Master Voranil moved to her side and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. She flinched at his touch, then moved her hands away from her tear-stained face and stared worriedly at Voranil.

‘Oh, sir, it was terrible. That, that horrible thing, it ran right across our bed covers, right in front of my very eyes.’

By now the crowd in the hall had moved closer to the door, and were jostling with each other to get a better view of the small scene. Without looking, and most likely without giving it a single thought,...