Morning!

Good morning to all! Here's a little snippet for you, from the first chapter of 'The Written'. Please excuse any typos or mistakes! Just thought you might like a little teaser, and there's more to come soon. Keep your tweets peeled. Hope you like the Cover sketch too....

Hundreds of miles away, in the west, dawn was breaking over an empty countryside. The cold morning light shone through the skeletal trees and scattered across winter snow drifts and dead leaves. The still wilderness was undulating, with rolling hills and patches of woods springing up between boulders, frozen streams, and endless snow. Apart from the drip of melting ice and the rattle of wind in the finger-like branches, not a sound could be heard.

A broken castle rose from a tall mound, crowned by concentric rings of ruined walls and dilapidated stone ramparts. A round tower squatted in disrepair at the centre of the castle still sporting an empty flagpole. The massive stones of the walls were covered in brown moss and hanging icicles, the crenellations adorned with cuts and gashes made by the war engines of old.

Soon the pale morning was disturbed by the faint noise of a heavy-breathing newcomer. A hooded figure came from the south trudging through the deep snow towards the castle, his long brown cloak billowed behind him in the icy breeze. Hot breath escaped in smoky plumes from his mouth and the sound of his labouring was loud against the dripping silence. The man stopped and pulled his clothing around him. He took a minute to catch his breath. In the half light of the early morning his grey-green eyes could pick out a low arched door set deep into the thick outer wall.

‘Carn Breagh,’ muttered the stranger, lowering a plain red scarf from his face. Clearing his throat he checked the woods to the left and right with a wary glance, and then trudged on through the deep snow. Beneath his cloak the man wore light steel plate armour over his shoulders, chest, and thighs, which clanked together softly as he moved. A black and brown tunic lay underneath with a thick leather belt holding onto his supplies and an old sword encased in a dark red scabbard. Something gold and scarlet and metal peeked out from beneath the sleeves of his thick cloak. The man’s sturdy black boots wearily plunged into the pure white snow, making creaking packing noises with every step.

The stranger reached the old wall and the small stone archway and spread his hands over the thick oak door, feeling the splintered wood and the thick spikes that held the gate together. The man gave the door a light push but nothing budged. It was locked tight from the inside. He shoved a shoulder against it in a futile attempt to move the ancient wood. But still nothing. He looked at the door quizzically. The planks were weathered from hundreds of years of wind and snow, yet for some reason they had not rotted away like the other wooden features of the ancient castle.

The hooded man stretched his back and neck and rolled up the sleeves of his cloak. Adorning his wrists and lower forearms were thick vambraces made of interwoven red and gold metal scales that glittered faintly in the dawn light. They clinked as he held them together. He closed his eyes briefly and then placed his palms on the door. All of a sudden a pulse rippled across the wood and there was a dull clang from the other side. The man gave it a little push and the door swung open with a creak.

He allowed himself a faint smile and pulled his cloak around him as he peered into the gloom. The man wrinkled his nose. It smelled like a thousand years of damp and there was the faint sound of dripping on stonework coming from somewhere in the darkness. Mould hid between the cracks in the walls. Without a sound the man ducked under the thick stone archway and stood in the dim corridor, listening. He made a fist. White light shivered around his fingers and suddenly the corridor was bathed in a pale moon-like light.

The stranger carried on through the old castle, poking around in holes and long-lost underground chambers. Cavernous halls and old rooms spread out like a warren left and right as the explorer went deeper and deeper into the castle. Everything was rotting and damp. Old curtains decayed where they had been thrown, chests and furniture had been smashed against walls and lay in dark heaps and broken postures. In old abandoned barracks benches and tables were pushed up against splintered doors. Rusty swords hid under the rubble.

For hours he searched the dank castle and found nothing except darkness and ruin. In a tiny room deep underground, the cloaked man carefully took a seat on one of the less broken chairs. He was beginning to get a little tired from keeping up his light spell, but he was sure there had to be something inside the old castle. He picked up a small piece of rubble and toyed with it for a few moments before tossing it across the room in boredom. To his surprise the stone sailed straight through a frayed tapestry and disappeared, landing with a clang somewhere far behind it. The man clenched his fist again and a fresh wave of light penetrated the gloom. Eagerly he tore the tapestry from its rusted hangings and threw it on the dusty floor. Hidden behind it was a hidden staircase that spiralled down into the dark shadows His footsteps echoed against the narrow walls as he jogged down the stairs, curiosity sparked in his mind. All of a sudden the stairs came to a halt and a long hallway snaked around a long corner. Sconces holding long torches poked out from recesses in the walls. The man moved to the nearest one and felt the oil-soaked wick between his finger and thumb. It was dry enough so the man clicked his fingers over the torch. Sparks flew from his fingers and sent flame curling up the wall.

Dousing his light spell he continued down the corridor lighting each torch as he went, and it wasn’t long before he came across a huge door set deep into the stonework, held by thick hinges and a massive bolt that seemed to be fused to the metal bracing it. Eyes closed, the man ran his hand over the wood, searching for the right spell to use, but when he threw a wave of magick at it the door didn’t even move an inch. Irritated, he tried again and the air hummed as he hit the wood with another spell. Nothing happened. He rubbed his stubbled chin and thought for a moment, adjusting the red scarf around his neck. All of a sudden a deep boom rang out somewhere below his feet and made the torches shiver in their sconces. The man slowly, and gently, drew his sword from its scabbard as a few specks of dust fell from the ceiling. He squinted at the torches as something caught his eye. The flames were shifting and leaning far out from the wall as if blown by a stiff breeze. It was time to leave.

The stranger turned and sheathed his sword with a loud metallic ringing noise. He swiftly climbed the stairs, turning left, then right, then left again, running up more stairs, retracing his steps as something trembled the paving stones beneath him. Suddenly he was out in the sunlight once more and the bright morning sun was stinging his eyes. He slammed the small door behind him and stepped out into the snowy sunshine. He listened and watched, ready for anything. Nothing came, and all was silent again in the castle.

‘Hmm,’ mused the cloaked figure. He bent to pick up a handful of snow and rubbed it between his fingers to wipe off the dust from the castle. As he moved to pick up another handful a shadow passed over him without a sound, a flitting shape momentarily darkening the snow. The man sighed and stood up straight, throwing off his cloak and drawing his sword with a flourish. Spinning his sword in his right hand he surveyed the peaceful countryside calmly. Steel glinted in his hand and checked the sun.

‘It’s not even noon yet and a man has to deal with dragons,’ muttered the stranger to himself as let his eyes rove over the horizon.

A huge screeching roar came from the skies above him and the man darted sideways with a huge running leap, narrowly missing a massive shape that plummeted into the snow behind him with a huge crash and a shower of snow. The man got to his feet and disdainfully brushed the white powder from his armour. He looked up. Out of the white haze there was a snarl and a creature reared its ugly blue head, shaking its horns with a rattling shiver and spreading stunted turquoise wings. A ridge of sharp brown spikes ran from its head to the tip of its serpentine tail. The monster’s claws dragged at the snow, razor sharp and curved like a cat’s, and its eyes were like black pools of jet. The wyrm let out a deafening hornlike scream and took one step forward, hissing at the man in the snow and rattling its aquamarine scales.

It had been a while since the man had seen such a large wild dragon, and even though it was a juvenile, no more than a wild wyrm, it still towered above him. The creature stank of old meat and a musky reptilian scent. The stranger began to circle the creature, holding his sword out straight towards it.

‘Leave now, or this will end badly for you,’ said the man in a measured tone, still treading sideways through the deep snow. The dragon snarled, obviously not understanding him, and stamped its enormous feet menacingly like an impatient bull. It roared a huge roar and sent foul spit flying into the man’s face.

‘I will take that as a no then, shall I?’ he said, and before the words had left his mouth the beast charged at the man with frightening speed. But the man was more than ready, and swiftly dropping to one knee he dug his blade into the snow with a wet thud. A solid wall of magick ripped out through the snow like a rippling earthquake and knocked the terrifying reptile flat with a low and somewhat disappointed whine. The man jumped up and swung his sword at the surprised beast and the blade cut a long path across its scaly back. Blue blood splashed the snow. Suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, the beast’s whip-like tail lashed out and struck him hard in the chest. He flew into a nearby drift with a crunch of armour and before he had time to take a breath the hungry dragon was already running at him again. It snarled and spat and it scratched and dug, furiously lashing out at the snow and at the man with its razor-like claws. He waved his sword wildly in front of him to keep the claws at bay, but a sharp stray talon scraped across his armour and found the soft pale skin underneath. With a pained wince he rolled sideways and escaped the long claws. Red blood stained the dirty snow beneath him. Getting swiftly to his feet the man smacked the braces covering his forearms together and a massive blast of flame pierced the air. The fireball hit the dragon in the chest and sent the creature reeling backwards. It roared with pain and frantically shook its front legs, but the man was quickly after it. His blue-stained sword burst into flame and it flew from his hand like a spear while he ran. Like a bolt of fiery lightning it buried itself in the dragon’s ribcage with a sharp thud and a huge blast of scorching fire. The beast uttered a last mournful whistle and toppled over against a nearby tree with a crash. The man slowed to a calm walk and strode forward to wrench his blade from the ribs of the smoking reptile. He put a hand to his side and winced, feeling the wet blood seeping from the long cut. Retrieving his cold cloak he sighed and began to slowly follow his footprints back in the direction he had come from.

Peace

Ben x