Amanda Moonstone: The Darkbane Sorceress
Sample Chapter
By Dan Wright
Not to be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system—except by a reviewer to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web—without permission from the author.
By Dan Wright
Not to be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system—except by a reviewer to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web—without permission from the author.
Chapter 1
Resurrection And Insurrection
Foliage parted as the dark soldiers carefully made their way through the forest, their long white hair gently blowing in the wind whilst their green eyes gazed ahead. What little skin wasn't covered in black cloth, with outline of red, showed a dark purple. Some wore hoods, some wore light armour and some kept their mouths covered with scarfs. Many of them had a scabbard on their back which held slightly curved blades, some had a second. They moved in complete silence like living shadows – their presence was such that even the night animals were afraid to make a sound.
A black hand at the front halted the movement of the shadow. Their leader wore a long black coat, held in place with two spiked shoulder pads. Underneath the coat was armour that followed the same colour scheme as the rest of his warriors, except this one covered virtually all flesh, leaving only white hair tied at the back of his helmet. He was like a monster that had stepped out of the Necroworld – red spikes adorned the head and two rubies where his eyes should have been burned like fire when the light of the moon hit them.
The leader lowered his hand and sniffed the air. There was a large castle directly ahead. The rock it was built from was as black as night and barely illuminated by the moonlight. From what was shown it was clear that this castle was in a state of decay, and may have been abandoned for centuries. Its edges were jagged and crumbling, centuries of wear and weather tearing at it piece by piece. It was less a castle and more a ruin. According to legends, this castle was considered an ill omen, and any with an ounce of sense stayed away from it.
Underneath his mask, the leader grinned. He moved his hand forward and shadow bound ahead.
The warriors met with no resistance when they entered the hallway of the crumbling building. The leader could smell damp in his nose and water dripped from the castle walls. The inside of the castle was just as shocking as the outside. Many walls had gaping holes where stone had fallen off or rotted away. Cobwebs lined the nooks and crannies of the walls; the spiders having made their homes here. The place was in a terrible state and no amount of work would fix it. In fact, it would have been better to let the whole thing fall and build it again from scratch. Torches were lined up against the wall, providing some light. The leader smelt that the torches had only been recently lit, possibly no more than an hour ago or so. Their contact had to be here.
They followed the light until they reached a giant chamber. Broken black pillars littered the ground and moonlight poured in from the hole in the roof. At the end of the chamber was a large throne, the gold dusty from neglect. It currently had an occupant sitting on it, relaxing as comfortably as any Queen. The light from the roof just avoided her and all they could see from the darkness were glowing, purple eyes. She looked up as the shadows stopped with their leader.
“You’re late.”
The leader was surprised that she spoke in his native tongue and it almost distracted him from the crassness and rude tone of her remark. “You speak Shadorian?” His voice was husky and muffled by his mask.
“I have spent time in your country,” the figure replied. “That is how I learnt of the Singing Screams and their leader, Vladrac the Butcher.”
“Butcher General,” the leader of the clan corrected, this time speaking in Commonspeak. “And I speak your language.”
The figure eyed Vladrac a little nervously. Within Vladrac's dark armour could be seen knives, sword handles, arrows, axe blades – all embedded into his armour. He was like an armoury of every weapon known to man. And yet none of them seem to slow down his movements, let alone hamper him. Just one of those strikes would be enough to take down a normal man, but not Vladrac. He was anything but normal.
“I must say that you have picked an... interesting spot to meet.” Vladrac could not see the castle, being that he no longer had eyes – but his other senses painted a picture clearer than sight ever could.
“This castle used to belong to Lord Shadowraven,” the figure replied. “During the Age of Sorcery, he was one of the most powerful mages to have mastered dark magic. For over two hundred years he remained unchallenged. This is all that remains of his legacy. But that is not the reason I chose this spot.”
“It is rare that we ever get hired for our services outside our country,” Vladrac said. “So tell me, who would summon us here?”
The figure stood up from the throne and walked towards the light, her feet echoing across the old rock. The bottom half of her purple dress first came into view, the light moving up her body as she moved closer. It moved up her waist and then to her chest, revealing raven black hair draped over her shoulder, a golden headband on her forehead. A dark purple cloak dragged behind her, attached to a spindly ruff around her neck and a collar that stood rigidly behind her head. Her skin was paler than regular flesh and her purple eyes seemed to light up as she spoke. “My name is Saevitia Darkbane. One hundred years ago, I was betrayed and my people murdered by the Gryphenpyre household.”
“I have heard of you, sorceress,” Vladrac murmured, hardly sounding phased by what had been told to him. “But how can I be sure that you are who you say you are?”
The left side of Saevitia’s lips curled slightly. She lifted up both hands and they came alight with dark energy, burning in the night like a star. The Singing Screams gasped and stepped back. This was dark magic in its purest form. A raging maelstrom of power and devastation in the palm of her hands.
“Impressive,” Vladrac said, feeling the heat. “I have no cause now to distrust you.”
The other side of Saevitia’s lips curled, making a smile.
“But tell me, My Lady. Why did you contact us? If the legends are true, your powers are quite formidable.”
Saevitia dispelled the magic from her hand. “There was a time when that was true, yes. There was a time when a click of my fingers could create an earthquake that would destroy a city. A time when I could rip the very sky asunder and make fire rain from the heavens. There was even a time when I could just incinerate entire legions with a point of my finger.” Her rodomontade disappeared with a sigh. “But...” She flexed her fingers. “My powers have diminished and it will be days before I have regained everything. Maybe even weeks. Or years... But my thirst for vengeance will not wait that long. It MUST be sated! That is why I need you.”
A black hand at the front halted the movement of the shadow. Their leader wore a long black coat, held in place with two spiked shoulder pads. Underneath the coat was armour that followed the same colour scheme as the rest of his warriors, except this one covered virtually all flesh, leaving only white hair tied at the back of his helmet. He was like a monster that had stepped out of the Necroworld – red spikes adorned the head and two rubies where his eyes should have been burned like fire when the light of the moon hit them.
The leader lowered his hand and sniffed the air. There was a large castle directly ahead. The rock it was built from was as black as night and barely illuminated by the moonlight. From what was shown it was clear that this castle was in a state of decay, and may have been abandoned for centuries. Its edges were jagged and crumbling, centuries of wear and weather tearing at it piece by piece. It was less a castle and more a ruin. According to legends, this castle was considered an ill omen, and any with an ounce of sense stayed away from it.
Underneath his mask, the leader grinned. He moved his hand forward and shadow bound ahead.
The warriors met with no resistance when they entered the hallway of the crumbling building. The leader could smell damp in his nose and water dripped from the castle walls. The inside of the castle was just as shocking as the outside. Many walls had gaping holes where stone had fallen off or rotted away. Cobwebs lined the nooks and crannies of the walls; the spiders having made their homes here. The place was in a terrible state and no amount of work would fix it. In fact, it would have been better to let the whole thing fall and build it again from scratch. Torches were lined up against the wall, providing some light. The leader smelt that the torches had only been recently lit, possibly no more than an hour ago or so. Their contact had to be here.
They followed the light until they reached a giant chamber. Broken black pillars littered the ground and moonlight poured in from the hole in the roof. At the end of the chamber was a large throne, the gold dusty from neglect. It currently had an occupant sitting on it, relaxing as comfortably as any Queen. The light from the roof just avoided her and all they could see from the darkness were glowing, purple eyes. She looked up as the shadows stopped with their leader.
“You’re late.”
The leader was surprised that she spoke in his native tongue and it almost distracted him from the crassness and rude tone of her remark. “You speak Shadorian?” His voice was husky and muffled by his mask.
“I have spent time in your country,” the figure replied. “That is how I learnt of the Singing Screams and their leader, Vladrac the Butcher.”
“Butcher General,” the leader of the clan corrected, this time speaking in Commonspeak. “And I speak your language.”
The figure eyed Vladrac a little nervously. Within Vladrac's dark armour could be seen knives, sword handles, arrows, axe blades – all embedded into his armour. He was like an armoury of every weapon known to man. And yet none of them seem to slow down his movements, let alone hamper him. Just one of those strikes would be enough to take down a normal man, but not Vladrac. He was anything but normal.
“I must say that you have picked an... interesting spot to meet.” Vladrac could not see the castle, being that he no longer had eyes – but his other senses painted a picture clearer than sight ever could.
“This castle used to belong to Lord Shadowraven,” the figure replied. “During the Age of Sorcery, he was one of the most powerful mages to have mastered dark magic. For over two hundred years he remained unchallenged. This is all that remains of his legacy. But that is not the reason I chose this spot.”
“It is rare that we ever get hired for our services outside our country,” Vladrac said. “So tell me, who would summon us here?”
The figure stood up from the throne and walked towards the light, her feet echoing across the old rock. The bottom half of her purple dress first came into view, the light moving up her body as she moved closer. It moved up her waist and then to her chest, revealing raven black hair draped over her shoulder, a golden headband on her forehead. A dark purple cloak dragged behind her, attached to a spindly ruff around her neck and a collar that stood rigidly behind her head. Her skin was paler than regular flesh and her purple eyes seemed to light up as she spoke. “My name is Saevitia Darkbane. One hundred years ago, I was betrayed and my people murdered by the Gryphenpyre household.”
“I have heard of you, sorceress,” Vladrac murmured, hardly sounding phased by what had been told to him. “But how can I be sure that you are who you say you are?”
The left side of Saevitia’s lips curled slightly. She lifted up both hands and they came alight with dark energy, burning in the night like a star. The Singing Screams gasped and stepped back. This was dark magic in its purest form. A raging maelstrom of power and devastation in the palm of her hands.
“Impressive,” Vladrac said, feeling the heat. “I have no cause now to distrust you.”
The other side of Saevitia’s lips curled, making a smile.
“But tell me, My Lady. Why did you contact us? If the legends are true, your powers are quite formidable.”
Saevitia dispelled the magic from her hand. “There was a time when that was true, yes. There was a time when a click of my fingers could create an earthquake that would destroy a city. A time when I could rip the very sky asunder and make fire rain from the heavens. There was even a time when I could just incinerate entire legions with a point of my finger.” Her rodomontade disappeared with a sigh. “But...” She flexed her fingers. “My powers have diminished and it will be days before I have regained everything. Maybe even weeks. Or years... But my thirst for vengeance will not wait that long. It MUST be sated! That is why I need you.”