BLACKTHORN - Chronicles of the Dark Sword Book One Page 0,2

violence that nearly split the earth. A huge blinding fireball erupted from where Trothgar had stood. A wall of searing flame and gale force winds flowed out from it with unbelievable speed and power. The hills were flattened and the Keep of Vi’Erud exploded into dust.

The Warders used their strength to hold back the conflagration, but they were not strong enough. Much of the Army was destroyed, dying horribly as their bodies exploded into flame.

Great crevices opened in the plain and magma rose up covering the landscape. The sky darkened and fiery debris fell from the clouds to strike the earth in powerful explosions.

A great crater had formed and jagged mountains of glassy stone erupted up out of the earth ringing the hellish pit. Through the haze of smoke and fire the great volcano still stood at its center. It had been reduced to a mere fragment of its original size but the power of Sur’kar had spared it from total destruction.

Within the tortured Calderas the great tower V’rag was no more, and with it Sur’kar’s throne. Few were the survivors of that great battle, only those who stood close to the Warders survived to tell the tale. The heroes and their weapons of power were forever lost in the destruction.

The world was cast into darkness for many years. An age of ice had settled upon the land, where only the strongest would survive.

“The Challenges of tomorrow are often

Rooted in the deeds of antiquity.”

Lenar, Bard of Ril’Gambor

Chapter One

Casius stood facing into the wind, watching as the gull's wheeled gracefully in the sky. Their plaintive calls a sharp contrast to the wind chimes ringing in the graveyard behind him.

Seventy-two Cairns of piled rock lay in orderly rows. Each with its own marker of carved wood that had turned gray with age. Here rested New Hope’s dead, securely surrounded by a low wall of dry set stone, blanketed with thick patches of dark moss.

The Graveyard had been built on the highest point of the island. A flat-topped hill of dark stone rising high among the eastern crags that bordered upon the vast expanse of the Southern Sea.

One hundred feet below, powerful waves crashed onto the jagged rocks of the cliff's base. Striking with such force that they often sent spray high above the cliff, where it drifted down in tattered patches of fog, giving the whole area a surreal look.

A lone tree grew here. A hoary old pine moaning as the wind blew through its needles. From its lowest branch hung the ringing set of chimes. Once, when they were new they had shone brightly in the sun as they swung in the breeze. The silver metal was now a deep tarnished green from years of exposure to the salt laden air. Their soft silvery notes were believed to keep the unsettled dead from rising.

Squinting his eyes against the afternoon sun, Casius let his gaze wander northward. Where he could see a distant line of dark ominous clouds. Up thrust like an angry fist they rose above the horizon. He had little doubt that the approaching storm would strike the small island as many did during this time of the year.

The same wind that drove the clouds had also turned the day bitterly cold. Casius shivered, the freezing air cutting through his thick wool shirt. He grimaced at the thought of freezing rain and deep drifts of snow soon to come. Gone now were the long days of summer and winter was fast approaching.

The Island of Kale lay north of the tropics, fifty miles off the eastern tip of Ao’dan. Winters here were long-lived and often brutal, testing the limits of both man and beast to survive.

Tiring of the wind's relentless fury, he turned his face away from its clawing fingers. Remembering to ring the small brass bell he held. He carried it to frighten any lurking spirits away. To look upon the dead was a dangerous thing for the living to do.

Gazing on the cairn that held his mother, he remembered how she would laugh at the superstitions held by the villagers of their home.

These hardy folk earned their livelihood from the sea. It was an arduous life, often perilous. The deep was capricious and scores of myths had grown around it. The Fishermen often told tales of legendary creatures, both benign and malignant. Strange beings that populated the mysterious depths of the dark abyss, at times they would rise up from the deep and pull a ship and crew down