"Oh, I do be wishing!" Brilon said in a tone mocking Doratellan's Seven Isles accent.
Doratellan swished his hand at Brilon, "Then, by all means, do be going first then."
Avara'etha brisled slightly, but stood aside as Brilon stepped forward in front of the Staff of Everilon. He paused briefly, and she noted a tentative look of fear on his face, though she could only see him in profile. He took a deep breath and grasped the Staff. He exhaled, thinking he was triumphant when a small shock went up his arm causing him to yelp, most likely more from surprise than pain, and drop the Staff back into its holder.
Doratellan smirked openly now, but said nothing. The rest all tried with the same result, though none yelped like Brilon.
---o---
And now she was the Fal'Shilaar, the head of the Order of Dar'Shilaar and held the Staff of Everilon, an artifact almost one thousand years old; wielded by the greatest elf Dar'Shilaar the world has known for over five hundred years; wielded by another group of powerful individuals over the course of the remaining five centuries. And contained within the Staff, stored the collective knowledge of all the amber quafa'shilaar's experiences for all that time, with all those owners. No, that word did not feel right. 'Owners' was the wrong word. 'Companions' had the right ring to it though.
She was the head of the Order now, with all the good and bad that the position brought with it. Privilege, but responsibility too; the latter far more heavy than the former. Knowledge came also, but always at a price.
And thus she was standing alone on a ledge high above a hidden valley, a recently used gatal'shilaar behind her, with tears streaming down her face. Tears of joy mixed with tears of sorrow. For the Staff had imparted to her the secret of the quafa'shilaar - the magestones - and had given her the exclusive knowledge to use the portal to travel here.
She stared up in wonder, and saw the magical dome that protected, but also contained the creatures of the valley. It was iridescent in the sunlight, shimmering in a rainbow of colors, casting them far and wide across the untouched meadows, and forests and rivers below. She looked down from her lofty height at the creatures, believed to be only myth, flying through the air above and below, a myriad of colors mirroring the dome above. She saw ultimate beauty, perfection really, in their forms, and this was part of the reason for the tears; for she had never seen a more beautiful sight.
But now she knew where magestones came from, and what they were, and that is the other part of why she was crying.
Magestones were the eggs of dragons.
###
To the Reader
I wanted to take a moment to thank you. I hope you've enjoyed reading this book as much as I have enjoyed writing it. I know you took a chance on me as a new author, and I hope that your chance paid off for you and that this tale of swords, sorcery, flying sailing ships and floating citadels has whetted your appetite for more.
For new authors like myself, word of mouth is the most important way that we can get the our name out, so if you really enjoyed my work, please share your comments on Amazon, on your blog, if you have one, facebook, twitter, pinterest, snap chat and whatever new social media app has been developed since I have written this blurb. Goodreads.com is another great place you can leave a comment.
Good reviews inspire people to take a chance on a new author - like me. And we new authors can use all the help we can get.
And if, on the off chance you did not enjoy it, but did get to this point, I do sincerely thank you for your time. I do know how valuable my time is to me, so for you to stick it out to the end means the world to me.
Thank you again for taking a chance on this book, and me.
Richard C. Innes
Acknowledgements
When I started this book in March of 2014, little did I know that it would take a full year of nights (some of us still want to keep the day job) to get this novel written, proofread, cover art completed and all the little pieces fit into place. Well of course this was not a one person show, and though this book is fully self-published, and a culmination of a dream of mine, there were many people along for the ride.
Many thanks to my selfless proofreaders:
Tracy Kass Palmer (self described grammar Nazi - her words, not mine), long-time friend from high school who was the first to jump at the chance to correct me, who did an amazing job of it, and found the majority of the spelling mistakes and typos in the first go around.
Suzanne Baril, my aunt-in-law, who, though she barely knows me, helped out and found inconsistencies in the book no one else (including I, obviously) found.
Janice McDonald, a friend and Junior High School teacher, spent many hours of her summer vacation plowing through the first half of my book.
Lauren Staples, a friend and co-worker who pointed out that a woman would not calmly comb her hair immediately after surviving a shipwreck, flying or otherwise.
John Kuperus, a friend and colleague who took time out of his busy schedule to sift through and find the last few items that stood out.
Thank you to some others indirectly responsible for helping:
A great big thank you to Jim and George Thompson for introducing me to Dungeons & Dragons™ when I was 10 years old. If it were not for that first roll of the dice, this book would not exist.
Thank you to my parents, Dick and Laurel, who always supported me in all my endeavors, and were the first ones to push me into reading at an early age, when it was "for school" and therefore - of course - I hated it. Well they ensured that I read my first two books "for school" and then made me do a book report on any book I wanted. That's when I found the fantasy genre, where even an Assistant Pig-Herder could become the hero of the story and save the kingdom. From that point on I was hooked.
And finally, to my wife Lisa, and my children Jocelyn, Christopher and Benjamin. Without you, there would be less of a reason for doing this, following my passion, my dream. Every day I am thankful for you, and want to do better, be better, and prove than anyone can do anything they set their mind to.
Thank you all.
About the Author
Richard C. Innes was introduced to Dungeons and Dragons when he was ten, and has since spent the rest of his free time telling fantasy stories to his friends around the gaming table. He also got a hold of and devoured any fantasy novel that came along, enjoying the works of Lloyd Alexander and Taran the Assistant Pig-keeper in the Book of Three and of course The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings when he was a child. The works of R.A. Salvatore; Robert Jordan's Wheel of Time Series; Steven Erikson's The Malazan Book of the Fallen Series; and Brandon Sanderson's Mistborn and Stormlight Archive Series; and dozens if not hundreds of other books, has sated, if ever only temporarily, his thirst for fantasy.
Richard lives in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada with his wife Lisa, his daughter Jocelyn, and twin sons, Christopher and Benjamin.
Connect with Me
You can contact Richard several ways:
On Facebook at: https://www.facebook.com/magestonechronicles
On Twitter at: @RCInnesAuthor
On his blog at: http://rcinnesauthor.blogspot.ca/
Or by email at: mailto:[email protected]
If you want to know when the next book is being released, send me an e-mail and I will put you on my mailing list. I will never spam, sell it or do anything with it but send you announcements about the next book.
Or if you prefer, follow #magestonechronicles or #magestone on twitter for updates. Or last, but not least, just 'Like' the facebook page, and you will get updates there.
Coming Fall/Winter 2015
Magestone Chronicles: Book 2
War Unleashed
Goralon has captured the Floating Fortress of Farad'ahar that protected the border and has invaded the eastern lands of the Kastrum Imperium. As the Goralonian hordes push into the Empire, Hoyle and Celia fight to stay ahead of the flood of soldiers. Scrambling, they are each forced to choose a path to try and make a difference as town
after town is destroyed by the invading army.
The Dar'Shilaar are trying to come to terms with the recent attack and murder of their leader for the last several decades, and adjust to the new leader in Marisha'ilea, while she tries to understand the implications of the revelations shown to her by the Staff of Everilon.
Meanwhile, dark forces move in the background as the warlock Kartem begins to manipulate the pieces in the game he is playing; a game in which he unknowingly is also just a piece; a game that could consume the whole world.
Read on...
Preview: War Unleashed
Prologue
Old Gabion sat where he always sat first thing in the morning, on the barrel in front of the Rusty Nail Tavern. This morning promised to be pleasant, clear and sunny. The sun had yet to rise, but he could not any sign of a cloud in the predawn sky. As usual, he was the only one up this early in the morning, before the cock crowed. Today he expected that everyone would be late risers, with last eve being Spring Planting's Eve, along with all its festivities and excesses.
The Rusty Nail sat on the main road through town. Well, they called it a highway, the Imperial Highway in fact, but Gabion was not too sure. If packed earth with the odd flat stone slab and four wagon wheel ruts could be called a highway, then this was a highway by the Seven Hells. But in his mind it was a road - the road, rather. The only one he knew. It ran in an east-west direction straight through the town of Byfrond Hollow. He heard it said that to the west it ran all the way to the Imperial City and past. To the east, he had heard that it ran through the foothills of the Whitetooth Mountains, up through the pass and on to the Kingdom of Goralon.
Of course, he had been born in this town, had grown up in this town, and had never had the urge to venture more than a half a day's walk from the town, and that barely got him to the edge of the woods to the west, or to the first hill of the foothills to the east. Of course from there, he could see that a wider world existed, he just was not much interested in exploring it.
Just as with any other day, he pulled out his tabaac pouch containing his favorite - Sommerton Leaf - and tamped some into his pipe. He used his flint to get the leaf going, and then took a long pull, letting the cloying aroma and smoke fill his mouth and filter into his lungs. He held for a three count and then exhaled. He shook his head, all these long years and he still found the same pleasure in this one thing.
As the morning sky began to brighten, he looked to the east. The mountains there looked like the bottom teeth of some horrid creature, dark and shadowy against the coming of the sun. He noted a figure on the road, still outside of town proper, but walking towards the town with a determined gait.
Gabion watched as the man approached, his shadow preceding him by a long distance as the sun just poked through the eastern pass. He was a middle-aged man, probably in his early forties with deep brown eyes with dark circles underneath, and thick salt-and-pepper hair. He was lean and muscular, and wore simple brown leather armor inscribed with the Imperial crest, two hands praying. He wore a simple shortsword in a scabbard on his belt. The man approached him directly.
"The town garrison?" the man asked.
Gabion raised one eyebrow in question, but said nothing. He took another pull from his pipe and exhaled slowly. "Nope." He finally offered.
"A constabulary? An officer of the Empire?" the man continued.
"Nope," he responded, taking another pull off his pipe. He could tell it was almost done.
"A mayor, elder, or other person of authority?" the man ventured, looking a little more concerned with each query.
"Aye, one of those we have," he replied, nodding his head. The man looked relieved as he watched Gabion intently.
"Well?" the uniformed man asked.
"Well what?" Gabion responded.
"Five Gods man! Who are they and where can I find them?!" the man asked appearing frustrated.
"Ah... That would be Cyrus Hardtack, down yonder," he said, gesturing down a crossroad to the north. The man started in the direction indicated. "If I can offer you some friendly advice, I suggest you don't wake him until the lunch bell."
"I am afraid we don't have the luxury of time," the man said cryptically as he picked his pace up slightly.
---o---
Yalang walked briskly down the carpeted hallway, his slippers making no sound on the thick wool. He could not believe the message that he had received from the Officer of the Record, but knew it had to be delivered to the Emperor at once. Bad news two days in a row he thought, I hope I survive this. Only yesterday had he delivered the message of the Dar'Shilaar's embassy being abandoned to his master, the Emperor. Instead of caving in to the Emperor's demands to provide two hundred magestones, they had fled back to their floating citadel leaving no one behind to punish.
It was shortly after sunrise the day after Spring Planting, the festivities of two nights ago all but forgotten. Yalang knew that the Emperor Randramas would be in the training hall, sparring with today's 'opponents'.
The Emperor allowed the Keeper of The Depths to select four prisoners that he thought worthy of reprieve each day and bring them forth before breakfast to spar with him. Those that survived for a bell earned their freedom, those that did not - well they earned a freedom of another sort. It was rumored that anyone that injured the Emperor and survived for the bell would earn their weight in gold. There had been only one to manage that feat - or so rumor went. Yalang knew the truth of the matter.
The whole arrangement was an elegant solution to many problems, including keeping the prison population low and providing the Emperor with ample training opponents with no reason to hold back.
As he approached the doors to the training hall, he could hear the sounds of heated battle echoing from the training room. He stepped inside the large, vaulted chamber to witness the tail end of today's sparring. He noted one body on the stone floor, already bleeding out from a deep wound across his grimy chest.
The Emperor stood in the center of the practice arena, equidistant to the remaining three, in a combat stance. He held his double bladed spear, with a forearm length, double-edged blade at each end in his right hand, the other end of the staff portion resting on his right shoulder. His left arm was out straight out to the side, slightly above his shoulder. His feet were spread apart at an angle, knees bent slightly. It looked like all three of the Emperor's opponents were breathing hard, and had retreated slightly to rest. One of them glanced at the sandglass to one side of the arena. Yalang estimated that only a few minutes remained.
He looked around; noting that the Keeper of Prisons, a grimy, hairy man with a slight hunch was standing to one side with his arms crossed had a slight smile on his face. He must think that one of his current charges might make it to the end of the bell. Not that it mattered much to him one way or another, but Yalang suspected the guards placed bets on the outcome of these daily training sessions. Several other prison guards stood to one side of the room, near the Keeper, but not with him.
The Palace Guards were also present, but they stood at attention, as always around the perimeter of the room, two per doorway. Several other advisors stood around the arena talking quietly to each other, or watching the spectacle in front of them.
Finally it appeared that the three remaining prisoners had silently agreed upon a tactic, and two of them rushed the Emperor. The first brought down an overhead chop with his sword, which the Emperor blocked with one of the blades of his double-bladed spear. The second, seemingly sensing an opportunity, stepped in with a thrust of his sword towards the Emperor's back. The others around the room gasped, thinking the emperor was doomed, but Yalang had seen this spectacle enough to know better.
The Emperor twisted out of the way, and swung the first opponent's sword in a wide arc, which he stepped under, and then stepped wide. The second prisoner drove his sword up to the hilt in the first prisoner's chest, eliciting a grunt of pain and nothing else as the man died. With the shock of what he had done still on his face
, the second prisoner froze. The Emperor quickly brought his staff around and cleaved off the man's arm that was holding his sword, still stuck in the chest of the other.
The man screamed and dropped to his knees, clutching his bleeding stump, the Emperor having cut the arm off above the elbow. The Emperor stepped forward and swung his staff spear, cutting the man's throat and silencing his screams to a gurgle. Randramas turned to face off against the third prisoner, glancing at the hourglass as he did so. But the man had quietly closed the distance while the Emperor was dispatching the other two, and with a flick of his wrist, sliced a cut across the Emperor's cheek.
The Emperor stopped, slightly taken aback. He reached up and felt the blood that had begun to run down his cheek. The observers around the room now held their collective breaths; as all had heard the rumors, but none hear had seen the Emperor ever take a wound - Yalang included.
The man paled slightly, but kept his sword up to fend off the Emperor in case he renewed his attack. The prisoner's eyes flicked over the shoulder of the Emperor towards the sandglass and relaxed in relief.
"Time's up," the prisoner stated, lowering his sword slightly.
The Emperor turned around and looked at the sandglass. Yalang could see the steel in his eyes. "So it would appear." The Emperor turned back to the prisoner and hurled his double-bladed staff spear into the chest of the last remaining prisoner. The prisoner's eyes widened in shock as he dropped to his knees and fell to his side, dying.
"You... cheated..." the man whispered into the completely silent room.
Yalang watched as the Emperor strode towards the dying man, and chanted something quietly under his breath. A red glow appeared around his hand as he bent down and touched the prisoner on the chest, holding him down with that hand, while he removed his weapon from the man's chest with the other. Yalang saw the look of fear pass across the man's face as the Emperor stole the man's dwindling essence, using it to heal the wound on his cheek.
Stones Unbound (The Magestone Chronicles Book 1) Page 33
