Here are the opening scenes of a fantasy novel which I would be very appreciative of some feedback on. Warning: the second segment contains a fairly vivid death scene, so if you don't like that sort of thing, you should skip it.
The Wizards of Sak Falon
On the morning when it all began Jaryth was alone on the Island of Illustra, levitating his castle. Actually it was more of a palace than a castle, and it was simply immense. Dazzling white marble and alabaster comprised every detail of the sprawling towers, delicate statuary, magnificent parapets, massive arches, soaring spires, countless balconies, graceful causeways, and winding stairs. The structure rose upon the westernmost edge of the island, contrasting its gleaming whiteness with the deep blue and tossing whitecaps of the sea beyond. On this particular early spring morning, the brilliant rays of the mounting sun, burning in a clear blue sky, drenched the castle in a golden radiance, setting it off in still sharper relief.
All in all, a larger and more beautiful palace could scarcely be imagined, yet to the young Diawizards disappointment it hadnt proved especially difficult either to lift or to suspend in midair, and a fine scowl settled over his otherwise perfect features. Well, but perhaps if one were to tip the thing, he murmured. That would be a greater feat than merely balancing it on the level, and would surely set the guests to slipping and sliding in the most gratifying of ways .
But no, he concluded, in the next breath. The goal here is to impress our fellow wizards and wizardresses, not irk them with a silly inconvenience.
For several moments Jaryth stood with his head bent, stroking his chin and frowning. All at once he straightened, a smile of pure joy lighting his features. Oh, I know! he exclaimed, all but clapping his hands in excitement. I know exactly what well do! Well materialize a pair of supremely powerful Diawizardsviolent, warlike fellows, just bound and determined to crash the party and slay as many guests as possibleand my brother and I will rush upon them, and challenge them to a fight to the death. But well make the fiends so realistic and so powerful, we wont be able to prevail right away. No, but the battle will rage on and on, lighting up the plaza with so many lightning-flashes, and so many crashes louder than thunderand such breathtaking displays of swordplaythat, before its over, even the most seasoned wizards will be fearing for their lives! Oh, the glory of it! The absolute, unadulterated, one hundred percent pure brilliance of it! Mercy, but you are a genius, Jaryth; you truly are!
Yet scarcely had the words left his lips then the young wizards shoulders slumped. Oh, blast and damnation! he muttered. Ive gone and forgotten the single most critically crucial factthe dragon-sized fly in the ointment, as it were. Namely, that my brother and I are so supremely powerful ourselves, no one would believe we actually had to struggle to defeat a pair of lesser wizards--for by definition, every other wizard in the world is lesser, when compared to us. Mercy, but the entire premise is so ridiculous, it would be a miracle if we werent laughed right off the face of Illustra, for even attempting such a ruse. The ignominy of it would be awful simply awful.
The wizard sighed. Oh, if only there actually did exist an adversary strong enough to give us a genuine fight, he muttered, a wistful note creeping into his voice. A dreadful Diawizard, perhaps; a murderous rogue who truly did want to terrify our guests. Mercy, but I would give a very large part of my fortune to meet such a one; indeed, I would go so far as to part with one of my finest rings, if only I could arrange for him to truly crash the party, and give me a chance to display my skill before the cream of Sak Falons aristocracy, and show its most eminent wizards and wizardresses exactly what Im made of .
Two-score miles to the east of Illustra, a lone Diawizard traveled west. He had set forth before dawn, and had traversed many miles since then. He rode a huge, dark horse, and proceeded at a measured canter, as if it were beneath his dignity to rush along at a headlong gallop. Like his steed, the wizard was huge, and he wore similarly colored clothing, consisting of wizardly robes so dark brown as to appear sable, draped over an even darker ensemble of trousers and a tunic, set off by a high-collared cape of midnight-black. A crush of dangerously potent rings glittered on his ring-hand, and a massive sword hung at his side. His handsome face, cut more along lines of ruggedness than of refinement, wore no expression at all, and his thick hair, hanging from his hatless head in thick, uncombed locks, glistened in the sunlight in curious shades of dark, bronzy gold. His carriage, even in the saddle, suggested a proud and powerful personage, and his brown eyes, narrow and hard, stared straight ahead through his horses ears, as if sighting along the length of an arrow notched in his bow.
He traversed a very broad field covered with short, thin grass. He hadnt covered a quarter of the grassland, however, when a shout broke the morning stillness. The dark wizard drew rein and, turning southward, espied a Diawizard mounted on a flashy sorrel, galloping toward him across the dew-soaked stubble. The newcomer was tall, even in the saddle, and sported a well-trimmed beard and a broad-brimmed hat of the type favored by many Sak Falonian wizards. His attire consisted of dark blue robes, a purple tunic and gray trousers. He did not, the dark wizard noticed, brandish his sword as he approached, and his first words were those of greeting.
Faith, but I am glad I caught you! he cried, as he came to a halt a few feet away. I had heard a brother Diawizard was seen in the region, but to tell the truth I was inclined to doubt it. Apart from me, the Illustra twins, and my immediate kin, this is singularly wizardless little corner of Sak Falon, and we seldom have the privilege of welcoming strangers into our midst.
My name, he added, with a bow, is Ryenon Tahvi of Rising Mount, though Im most commonly called Ryenon only; my castle lies on the crest of a hill just south of the town known as Brizling, and I would be delighted to have you as my guest.
The dark wizards eyes flicked over the Sak Falonions ring hand, and he didnt bother to hide his scowl. Perhaps you have two strangers in your region, he suggested. I very much doubt I could be the wizard you heard tell of.
I have seen no one, he added, when the bearded wizard looked askance, either yesterday or today, and am inclined to suspect your informants, whoever they may be, caught sight of some other fellow who happened to traveling in the vicinity.
Twas only one informant, returned Ryenon, with the faintest frown. A hunter from Brizling, who claimed to have espied an exceptionally large, dark-clad Diawizard near Blackbriar Lake.
The location was one reason I was inclined to doubt him, he added, with a shrug. Theres little enough in that God-forsaken wilderness to interest even a hunter, much less a Diawizard.
The dark wizard made no reply, and for some minutes silence protracted. Ryenons gaze passed up and down the bare-headed wizard, as if truly taking his measure for the first time, while for his part, the fingers of the dark wizards ring hand twitched as if yearning for action, and had to be restrained through an effort. At length Ryenon frowned. I didnt catch your name, he murmured. Nor, if memory serves, did you mention the location of your ancestral home.
It must be a place of considerable fame, given the extraordinary magnificence of the rings you wear upon your hand, he added, in suggestive tones. It must also lie beyond the boundaries of Sak Falon, seeing that I obviously dont know you, and I know most, if not all, the eminent Diawizards of this province.
For a moment longer the dark wizards silence lengthened, and his narrowed eyes bored into the Sak Falonians, as if attempting to see his soul. All at once his face creased into a slow, broad smile, causing it to appear genuinely handsome for the first time. My name is an old one, he returned, and, in some regions anyway, a much-celebrated one. Perhaps you are familiar with it? It is Balla-
Great Dragons of Hockenmock! he exclaimed, interrupting himself. What strange and rare manner of hilt is that in your sheath?
Ryenons frown deepened, and he glanced at his sword. Tis a Shinarian hilt, he murmured, with another shrug.
Most blades in this region, he explained, looking up, are forged in Shinar. Because so many wizards make the Great City on the Plain, as its known, their home, many of the best swordsmiths reside there as well.
The dark wizard cocked his head, gazing at the bejeweled hilt as if it was the most fascinating sight in the world. Mercy, but would it be possible for me to examine the scabbard more closely? he asked, all but whispering. In truth, I have never seen its like, and I would dearly love to study the craftsmanship.
Ryenons eyes narrowed and he made no reply, though his hand slipped toward the hilt, as if to grasp it.
You doubt my sincerity, remarked the dark wizard, looking up to meet the Sak Falonians gaze. You fear I have ulterior motives, and ought not to be trusted with your blade.
Well, but here, then, he went on, drawing his own sword. Take mine first, so that there can be no doubt. Then, once you are securely possessed of this, one of the most storied and powerful blades in all Pryeine, perhaps you'll see fit to pass yours to me, in like exchange.
The dark wizard held his sword by its gleaming black-silver blade, extending its jewel-encrusted hilt toward Ryenon. For a moment the two wizards sat as if frozen in tableau, the one holding out his sword, the other refusing to accept it. At length Ryenon stirred, then reached down and drew his own sword from its sheath. Straightening, he handed it hilt-first to the dark wizard, and accepted the larger sword in turn. Afterward, settling back into his saddle, the Sak Falonian proceeded to stare in rapt wonderment at the fabulously bejeweled haft.
This blade, he murmured, surpasses any I have ever set eyes on, save for the pair wielded by the Illustras themselves. Indeed, for sheer beauty and power, it is a veritable miracle of workmanship, and I cannot imagine where or how it was forged. He paused, glancing up. It is incredibly ancient, is it not?
As old as the hills, returned the dark wizard, with a smile. Indeed, it is nearly as old as that Great Dread Eagle, soaring high above us.
Ryenon, frowning, gazed up into the cloudless sky. I see no eagle, he muttered, raising one hand to shade his eyes. Indeed, I see no bird at all.
Perhaps, suggested the dark wizard, shifting his grip on Ryenons sword, youre looking in the wrong place. Then, before Ryenon could react, as he snapped back his hand and hurled the weapon, javelin-style, straight at the bearded wizards throat. The blade struck with blinding force, sinking deep into Ryenons flesh and stopping only when the jeweled hilt came up against the pale skin of his neck.
Ryenons eyes bulged, the massive sword slipped from his splayed fingers, and his mouth opened in a strangled gasp.
You deserved to die, the dark wizard murmured, as he stared at Ryenons blanched face. Any wizard idiot enough to hand his most trusted weapon to a perfect stranger deserves to die.
Though I must say you deserved it more than most, he continued, smirking. You fell for that ridiculous drivel about our exchanging swords making everything all right. It would only have made it all right if your desire to kill me exceeded my desire to kill you.
For reply, Ryenon pitched forward in the saddle, then tumbled past his horses withers and hit the ground with a heavy thud.
A word of advice, the dark wizard continued, as Ryenons body writhed upon the grass. In future, should it become clear that a wizard more powerful than yourself wishes to keep his identity a secret, leave well enough alone. If you persist in trying to elicit information, you may incite his anger and anger can be a very dangerous thing.
Ryenons blood oozed into the grass, and faint noises gurgled in his throat.
Well, but seeing it no longer matters, remarked the dark wizard, with a shrug, I will make known my name to you. It is Montegrey, though I am more commonly called Ballalell. Please feel free to refer to me by either appellation; theres no point in standing on ceremony at a time like this.
Ryenons eyes rolled back into his head and his body stiffened, then flickered. For a few moments he lay perfectly still, his entire body clearly visible, then it flickered again, seeming to fade into an indistinct shadow of itself. For the briefest moment it materialized once more, then, with a final shimmer, it disappeared in a swirl of dust.
No sooner was its masters body gone than the sorrel horse tossed its head, pawed the grass, and to fade like a patch of fog burning away when sunlight strikes it. When the last trace of the gleaming animal vanished, all that remained was a faint dusting of silvery powder, a pair of swords, and a scattering of brilliant rings.
Mercy, but I thought the wretch would never die, muttered Ballalell, dismounting. Picking up his sword he sheathed it, then collected the rings. Straightening, he turned his hand until gemstones caught the bright rays of the mounting sun. After a moment, he shook his head. A sorrier lot I have seldom seen. If the lackwit was bound and determined to make me kill him, he might at least have made it worth my while.
Ballalell slipped the rings into a leather pouch he wore at his side, then bent again and picked up Ryenons sword. He gazed at it for a moment, then sneered. A worthless piece of junk, he muttered. He flung the blade far out into the field then, remounting his great horse, turned into the west and set forth once again.
The Wizards of Sak Falon
Book One: Family Secrets and Skeletons in the Castle
On the morning when it all began Jaryth was alone on the Island of Illustra, levitating his castle. Actually it was more of a palace than a castle, and it was simply immense. Dazzling white marble and alabaster comprised every detail of the sprawling towers, delicate statuary, magnificent parapets, massive arches, soaring spires, countless balconies, graceful causeways, and winding stairs. The structure rose upon the westernmost edge of the island, contrasting its gleaming whiteness with the deep blue and tossing whitecaps of the sea beyond. On this particular early spring morning, the brilliant rays of the mounting sun, burning in a clear blue sky, drenched the castle in a golden radiance, setting it off in still sharper relief.
All in all, a larger and more beautiful palace could scarcely be imagined, yet to the young Diawizards disappointment it hadnt proved especially difficult either to lift or to suspend in midair, and a fine scowl settled over his otherwise perfect features. Well, but perhaps if one were to tip the thing, he murmured. That would be a greater feat than merely balancing it on the level, and would surely set the guests to slipping and sliding in the most gratifying of ways .
But no, he concluded, in the next breath. The goal here is to impress our fellow wizards and wizardresses, not irk them with a silly inconvenience.
For several moments Jaryth stood with his head bent, stroking his chin and frowning. All at once he straightened, a smile of pure joy lighting his features. Oh, I know! he exclaimed, all but clapping his hands in excitement. I know exactly what well do! Well materialize a pair of supremely powerful Diawizardsviolent, warlike fellows, just bound and determined to crash the party and slay as many guests as possibleand my brother and I will rush upon them, and challenge them to a fight to the death. But well make the fiends so realistic and so powerful, we wont be able to prevail right away. No, but the battle will rage on and on, lighting up the plaza with so many lightning-flashes, and so many crashes louder than thunderand such breathtaking displays of swordplaythat, before its over, even the most seasoned wizards will be fearing for their lives! Oh, the glory of it! The absolute, unadulterated, one hundred percent pure brilliance of it! Mercy, but you are a genius, Jaryth; you truly are!
Yet scarcely had the words left his lips then the young wizards shoulders slumped. Oh, blast and damnation! he muttered. Ive gone and forgotten the single most critically crucial factthe dragon-sized fly in the ointment, as it were. Namely, that my brother and I are so supremely powerful ourselves, no one would believe we actually had to struggle to defeat a pair of lesser wizards--for by definition, every other wizard in the world is lesser, when compared to us. Mercy, but the entire premise is so ridiculous, it would be a miracle if we werent laughed right off the face of Illustra, for even attempting such a ruse. The ignominy of it would be awful simply awful.
The wizard sighed. Oh, if only there actually did exist an adversary strong enough to give us a genuine fight, he muttered, a wistful note creeping into his voice. A dreadful Diawizard, perhaps; a murderous rogue who truly did want to terrify our guests. Mercy, but I would give a very large part of my fortune to meet such a one; indeed, I would go so far as to part with one of my finest rings, if only I could arrange for him to truly crash the party, and give me a chance to display my skill before the cream of Sak Falons aristocracy, and show its most eminent wizards and wizardresses exactly what Im made of .
Two-score miles to the east of Illustra, a lone Diawizard traveled west. He had set forth before dawn, and had traversed many miles since then. He rode a huge, dark horse, and proceeded at a measured canter, as if it were beneath his dignity to rush along at a headlong gallop. Like his steed, the wizard was huge, and he wore similarly colored clothing, consisting of wizardly robes so dark brown as to appear sable, draped over an even darker ensemble of trousers and a tunic, set off by a high-collared cape of midnight-black. A crush of dangerously potent rings glittered on his ring-hand, and a massive sword hung at his side. His handsome face, cut more along lines of ruggedness than of refinement, wore no expression at all, and his thick hair, hanging from his hatless head in thick, uncombed locks, glistened in the sunlight in curious shades of dark, bronzy gold. His carriage, even in the saddle, suggested a proud and powerful personage, and his brown eyes, narrow and hard, stared straight ahead through his horses ears, as if sighting along the length of an arrow notched in his bow.
He traversed a very broad field covered with short, thin grass. He hadnt covered a quarter of the grassland, however, when a shout broke the morning stillness. The dark wizard drew rein and, turning southward, espied a Diawizard mounted on a flashy sorrel, galloping toward him across the dew-soaked stubble. The newcomer was tall, even in the saddle, and sported a well-trimmed beard and a broad-brimmed hat of the type favored by many Sak Falonian wizards. His attire consisted of dark blue robes, a purple tunic and gray trousers. He did not, the dark wizard noticed, brandish his sword as he approached, and his first words were those of greeting.
Faith, but I am glad I caught you! he cried, as he came to a halt a few feet away. I had heard a brother Diawizard was seen in the region, but to tell the truth I was inclined to doubt it. Apart from me, the Illustra twins, and my immediate kin, this is singularly wizardless little corner of Sak Falon, and we seldom have the privilege of welcoming strangers into our midst.
My name, he added, with a bow, is Ryenon Tahvi of Rising Mount, though Im most commonly called Ryenon only; my castle lies on the crest of a hill just south of the town known as Brizling, and I would be delighted to have you as my guest.
The dark wizards eyes flicked over the Sak Falonions ring hand, and he didnt bother to hide his scowl. Perhaps you have two strangers in your region, he suggested. I very much doubt I could be the wizard you heard tell of.
I have seen no one, he added, when the bearded wizard looked askance, either yesterday or today, and am inclined to suspect your informants, whoever they may be, caught sight of some other fellow who happened to traveling in the vicinity.
Twas only one informant, returned Ryenon, with the faintest frown. A hunter from Brizling, who claimed to have espied an exceptionally large, dark-clad Diawizard near Blackbriar Lake.
The location was one reason I was inclined to doubt him, he added, with a shrug. Theres little enough in that God-forsaken wilderness to interest even a hunter, much less a Diawizard.
The dark wizard made no reply, and for some minutes silence protracted. Ryenons gaze passed up and down the bare-headed wizard, as if truly taking his measure for the first time, while for his part, the fingers of the dark wizards ring hand twitched as if yearning for action, and had to be restrained through an effort. At length Ryenon frowned. I didnt catch your name, he murmured. Nor, if memory serves, did you mention the location of your ancestral home.
It must be a place of considerable fame, given the extraordinary magnificence of the rings you wear upon your hand, he added, in suggestive tones. It must also lie beyond the boundaries of Sak Falon, seeing that I obviously dont know you, and I know most, if not all, the eminent Diawizards of this province.
For a moment longer the dark wizards silence lengthened, and his narrowed eyes bored into the Sak Falonians, as if attempting to see his soul. All at once his face creased into a slow, broad smile, causing it to appear genuinely handsome for the first time. My name is an old one, he returned, and, in some regions anyway, a much-celebrated one. Perhaps you are familiar with it? It is Balla-
Great Dragons of Hockenmock! he exclaimed, interrupting himself. What strange and rare manner of hilt is that in your sheath?
Ryenons frown deepened, and he glanced at his sword. Tis a Shinarian hilt, he murmured, with another shrug.
Most blades in this region, he explained, looking up, are forged in Shinar. Because so many wizards make the Great City on the Plain, as its known, their home, many of the best swordsmiths reside there as well.
The dark wizard cocked his head, gazing at the bejeweled hilt as if it was the most fascinating sight in the world. Mercy, but would it be possible for me to examine the scabbard more closely? he asked, all but whispering. In truth, I have never seen its like, and I would dearly love to study the craftsmanship.
Ryenons eyes narrowed and he made no reply, though his hand slipped toward the hilt, as if to grasp it.
You doubt my sincerity, remarked the dark wizard, looking up to meet the Sak Falonians gaze. You fear I have ulterior motives, and ought not to be trusted with your blade.
Well, but here, then, he went on, drawing his own sword. Take mine first, so that there can be no doubt. Then, once you are securely possessed of this, one of the most storied and powerful blades in all Pryeine, perhaps you'll see fit to pass yours to me, in like exchange.
The dark wizard held his sword by its gleaming black-silver blade, extending its jewel-encrusted hilt toward Ryenon. For a moment the two wizards sat as if frozen in tableau, the one holding out his sword, the other refusing to accept it. At length Ryenon stirred, then reached down and drew his own sword from its sheath. Straightening, he handed it hilt-first to the dark wizard, and accepted the larger sword in turn. Afterward, settling back into his saddle, the Sak Falonian proceeded to stare in rapt wonderment at the fabulously bejeweled haft.
This blade, he murmured, surpasses any I have ever set eyes on, save for the pair wielded by the Illustras themselves. Indeed, for sheer beauty and power, it is a veritable miracle of workmanship, and I cannot imagine where or how it was forged. He paused, glancing up. It is incredibly ancient, is it not?
As old as the hills, returned the dark wizard, with a smile. Indeed, it is nearly as old as that Great Dread Eagle, soaring high above us.
Ryenon, frowning, gazed up into the cloudless sky. I see no eagle, he muttered, raising one hand to shade his eyes. Indeed, I see no bird at all.
Perhaps, suggested the dark wizard, shifting his grip on Ryenons sword, youre looking in the wrong place. Then, before Ryenon could react, as he snapped back his hand and hurled the weapon, javelin-style, straight at the bearded wizards throat. The blade struck with blinding force, sinking deep into Ryenons flesh and stopping only when the jeweled hilt came up against the pale skin of his neck.
Ryenons eyes bulged, the massive sword slipped from his splayed fingers, and his mouth opened in a strangled gasp.
You deserved to die, the dark wizard murmured, as he stared at Ryenons blanched face. Any wizard idiot enough to hand his most trusted weapon to a perfect stranger deserves to die.
Though I must say you deserved it more than most, he continued, smirking. You fell for that ridiculous drivel about our exchanging swords making everything all right. It would only have made it all right if your desire to kill me exceeded my desire to kill you.
For reply, Ryenon pitched forward in the saddle, then tumbled past his horses withers and hit the ground with a heavy thud.
A word of advice, the dark wizard continued, as Ryenons body writhed upon the grass. In future, should it become clear that a wizard more powerful than yourself wishes to keep his identity a secret, leave well enough alone. If you persist in trying to elicit information, you may incite his anger and anger can be a very dangerous thing.
Ryenons blood oozed into the grass, and faint noises gurgled in his throat.
Well, but seeing it no longer matters, remarked the dark wizard, with a shrug, I will make known my name to you. It is Montegrey, though I am more commonly called Ballalell. Please feel free to refer to me by either appellation; theres no point in standing on ceremony at a time like this.
Ryenons eyes rolled back into his head and his body stiffened, then flickered. For a few moments he lay perfectly still, his entire body clearly visible, then it flickered again, seeming to fade into an indistinct shadow of itself. For the briefest moment it materialized once more, then, with a final shimmer, it disappeared in a swirl of dust.
No sooner was its masters body gone than the sorrel horse tossed its head, pawed the grass, and to fade like a patch of fog burning away when sunlight strikes it. When the last trace of the gleaming animal vanished, all that remained was a faint dusting of silvery powder, a pair of swords, and a scattering of brilliant rings.
Mercy, but I thought the wretch would never die, muttered Ballalell, dismounting. Picking up his sword he sheathed it, then collected the rings. Straightening, he turned his hand until gemstones caught the bright rays of the mounting sun. After a moment, he shook his head. A sorrier lot I have seldom seen. If the lackwit was bound and determined to make me kill him, he might at least have made it worth my while.
Ballalell slipped the rings into a leather pouch he wore at his side, then bent again and picked up Ryenons sword. He gazed at it for a moment, then sneered. A worthless piece of junk, he muttered. He flung the blade far out into the field then, remounting his great horse, turned into the west and set forth once again.
