The Rogue Mage by Alex Thornbury
The Rogue MageThe Sundered Web Book TwoAlex Thornbury
Genre: FantasyPublisher: Shadow Lore PublishingDate of Publication: 5th December 2023ISBN: 978-0-6454970-4-5ASIN: B0BW35KXPZNumber of pages: 550Word Count: 190,000Cover Artist: Alejandro Colucci
Tagline: For humankind, she would be the monsters’ monster. She would be their fear in the night. She would be the terror come for them.
Book Description:
Elika crosses the Bridge to Magic to find the world ruled by magic, where nothing is as it seems. Mages run the streets, whilst the tsaren, their masters, war with each other. Though it is men who pay the price with their lives.
Faced with the injustice of the mages and the new world order, Elika discovers her own untapped gifts that may yet shift the balance of power back into the hands of men. But her dabbling in the power she does not understand draws the attention of the dreaded demigod Syn’Moreg.
Elika must now outwit the shadow that hunts her, whilst seeking a way to free mankind from their oppressors. Yet dark grows her heart, and to darkness it reaches for that which the shadow denies.
As whispers of a newly found heir to the Sacred Crowns grow to cries of war, Elika comes to realize that she may not be the savior of mankind after all. Mite has proclaimed himself King Northwind, and marches on Terren to claim what is rightfully his. Elika is certain he will fail, unless she can vanquish the one power standing in his way. But to do that, she must convince the court and the archmage that she is the demigoddess Arala returned.
Excerpt:
Aeon-Greengrass’house was easy to find, illuminated as it was with moonlight. The chimney was aweave of branches, and grass grew from the walls. She peered down from the edgeof the roof to a small balcony, and silently lowered herself onto it. The treebranches stirred under her feet, then stilled. Instead of a window, an airyopening, with black webbing barred her way inside.
‘Open,’she commanded in a whisper, pushing her will into the surrounding essence, andfelt the answering quiver.
Theblack strands parted, and she strode inside into a darkened lounge. Had shecome here to rob, she would have needed ten sacks for all the loot.
Everysurface was crowded with silver ornaments in strange shapes and flowing formsthat resembled nothing you’d find in nature. She was drawn to a figurine thatresembled a twisting, spiralling shape of a man, as if his body was made fromwater. Another figurine was of a dog, his earthly form also looped andstretched around itself, a grotesque torment of the natural order.
Therewere trees and flowers and animals, all twisted and bent. Yet there was an oddbeauty in the grotesqueness that tugged at her primal heart. Was this how theysaw her world? Strange that these ugly beings searched for beauty and craftedit in their own appalling way.
What do you want from our world? she pondered. Surely your own is of muchgreater splendour, abound as it is with magic and wonder.
Dangerousmusings, she thought, and abruptly turned away before her resolve wavered.
Insidethe house, there were no doors, only archways in the walls of branches withstrange, whimsical fruit sprouting from their tips. No fruit was the same, andwhen she touched one, it felt hollow and light as if spun from dust and wishes.Under her foot, there was a carpet of grass. In it grew small flowers, akin tothose a child might draw with a stick in the mud, both extravagant and clumsyin their form. The petals were of different sizes and irregular in shape.
Everythinghere gave an impression of simultaneous worship and corruption of nature, as ifthe Laifae did not understand how it all fitted together.
Atthe end of the hall, she came to a doorway. A black web barred her way. Beyondit, she felt his essence, the creature who gave this house its form. Shefocused on that essence, placed the hand on the webbing and whispered, ‘Do notresist me.’
Warm,slick strands trembled under her fingers and parted before her, allowing herentry into the majren’s bedchamber. A light glowed in a lantern beside his bed,illuminating the youthful face of the sleeping mage. He was a youth … no, thebody he had stolen belonged to a youth whose limbs still had not developed thebulk of a full-grown man. It was an absurdly wrong body for the man who heldsuch an important position in the archmage’s dominion. Curled on his side, helooked like a child in peaceful slumber.
Thechild is dead, she reminded herself, willing the anger to grow.
Still,she could not look at him and do what must be done. She sent a black tendril toextinguish the flame in his lantern, and the room was plunged into darkness.
Aeon-Greengrassstartled awake and sat up.
‘Who’sthere?’ He moved his face searchingly, back and forth, past where she stood.
She froze, realising that he was blind in the dark of night. His ears weresharp, however, and he must have heard her intake of breath, or perhaps thefrantic beating of her heart.
‘Guards!Guards!’ He shouted from inside the dead man’s chest, a sound akin to astrangled roar.
Withoutfurther thought, she grasped the threads of his essence and pulled.
‘No!Spare me. I have gold and riches.’
‘Richesyou earned by selling the lives of men.’
‘Whoare you, mistress?’ he gasped.
Inreply, she pulled harder upon the threads. He groaned and writhed and finallyfell lifeless back onto his bed.
‘Alife for a life.’ She uttered the mantra from long ago, which they had lived byon the streets.
Andsomething inside her grew cold and dark.
Acrack under her feet … she plunged through the floor and hit the lower levelwith a rough thud.
Shegroaned, rolled, noting that nothing was broken, and looked up. But of course,she thought, with the Laifae gone, so was his magic. The grass floor morphed torotting wood, decayed and barely holding the house together. The walls of thehouse were wilting and vanishing, and the stones which had been held firm byblack webbing began to crumble and crash around her.
Elika scrambled to her feet, raced to the window and jumped out. Behind her,the house fell to rubble and dust chased her down the street. Shouts and callscame from the folk as they emerged to gape at the rubble she had left behind.When she was out of their sight, she slowed to a walk.
Awind brushed her hood.
Shestopped, and her heart raced with recognition and fear.
Thewind blew again, stronger this time.
Sheknew that wind. Knew it as well as her own breath. She had lived beside thedark chasm most of her life, had listened to the shrill screams upon it. Butshe was far from the chasm, and the wind of the Abyss did not travel far pastit. Yet here it was, filled with biting rage, swirling around her. And on it,she felt a dark presence. Something followed her that was not a man.
Shespun around and probed the deep, lurking shadows of the night, straining herears to listen to the silence hidden by the wailing wind. A terrible power drewnear. She felt its approach in the depths of her bones. The very essence of theworld bent and trembled beneath it. It charged the air with its rage. A pulseof that rage went past, and a tremor shook the ground beneath her feet. Shestaggered but managed not to fall, turned again, trying to see where thenearing storm was coming from.
Itstilled, as if also listening. Then, as if it caught her scent, the terrorcharged towards her.
Shedarted for the closest rainwater pipe and, in an instant, scrambled up it tothe roof, lay flat on her stomach and peered over the edge. No one was there.No sound, no movement in the faintly lit street. Still, the sense of dangerprickling her skin was a physical sensation she could not ignore. Something wasthere, seeking her, scanning the roofs where she had climbed. Aye, there wereeyes searching for her, brushing past her.
Darknessmoved, and she saw it, a shadow darker than the night untouched by moonlight.It moved and vanished. And the winds of the Abyss grew still.
She rolled away from the edge and stared up at themoon, waiting until she was certain the shadow had left. Then she rose and ranhome.
About the Author: Alex Thornbury is an award-winning author. She grew up in Cheshire UK, and developed deep love of history and fantasy thanks to the many castles she visited as a child. Though she grew up to be an Alchemist by trade, she never stopped fantasising about other worlds, dragons and epic battles.
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