The origin of Evil (eBook)

The training of a magician

Gilbert V. Martin (Autor)

eBook Download: EPUB

2024 | 1. Auflage
240 Seiten
Publishdrive (Verlag)
978-0-00-104856-0 (ISBN)

Infos

Cross the gates to an ancient world where mythical creatures reign and destiny calls an unlikely hero to reclaim the lost magic. Embark on an epic journey where legends are born and dragons and ancient magic awaits those brave enough to discover its secrets.
A wizard forced to abandon his studies, a half-elf in exile, a half-dwarf monk with dubious morality, a thief forced to flee her city, a drunkard soldier with his intelligent donkey...
But the salvation of the world of men, elves and dwarves is in their hands.
Magic, love, adventure and comedy in an unmissable Fantasy.

Textauszug

1. 1 - Distant fires

It was dusk, and Corporal Ler slowly climbed the rickety old wooden ladder leading up to the palisade walkway and then onto the wooden turret, where the only soldier on guard was probably sleeping. But what did it matter? They were guarding what, exactly? For more than a hundred years, no danger had come from the other side of the Wallhorns. In fact, no one had come at all. Not a single visitor. And no one had ever ventured beyond them. The lands beyond the Wallhorns were aptly named the Unknown Lands. Still, that was no reason to neglect his duty. Now that Sergeant Pavnel was on leave and had left command to him, it was an opportunity to take advantage of the situation.

Ler climbed slowly, holding his sword close to his body with one hand to avoid making a sound. He passed the edge of the palisade and continued to ascend cautiously, careful to avoid creaking. He slipped on the headgear adorned with a pair of bull horns that he had brought with him. He imagined jumping out into the darkness, looking like an ogre, and giving that lazy soldier a good scare! Everyone in the canteen would have laughed for days, especially during the punishment he would impose by forcing him to dig the new latrine.

Finally, he reached the turret's floor level and saw the soldier crouched in the corner, just as he had expected. A cloud covered the moon, casting a shadow over the scene. Standing in the doorway, snickering under his moustache, Corporal Ler leapt into the center of the turret, growling and brandishing his sword. The soldier's shadow did not move. One second. Two. Ler growled louder. At that moment, the shadow split in two; part remained on the ground, unmoving, while part stood up. It rose, rising again. Then the cloud shifted, revealing the circle of the moon, allowing its dim glow to illuminate the scene.

In a fleeting vision, Ler saw the soldier's body gutted on the ground, his liver missing, and his intestines scattered. Ler, with a dry mouth, swallowed hard; then, slowed as if swimming in oil, he tried to process what he was seeing. Now, he beheld a gigantic being with fangs and slime, part of the soldier's liver still dripping blood from its mouth. The smile died on Corporal Ler's face as his sword trembled. A scream of pure terror rose in his throat but never escaped his lips; he was lost in the gurgle of blood flowing from the wound opened by a clawed hand. Before he died, he barely had time to look across the pass and see the immense number of fires now dotting the plain where nothing had ever been seen before.

Panvel. They called him "Panvel the Hawk’s Eye" because of his only remaining eye. He was middle-aged, with dirty, sparse hair and a protruding belly—not much of a specimen of the human race. Dull-witted enough to be an arrogant and boastful sergeant, he often unloaded his frustrations on his subordinates.

It was dawn as he emerged from the only tavern in the village of Spit, the only settlement within thirty miles. Spit lay sunken in a malodorous, muddy hollow at the foot of the Wallhorns mountains, just below the forbidden pass. Yes, the pass. No one had ventured through it since the last horde of orcs descended more than a hundred years ago. Spit marked the end of the now disused and partially forgotten Royal Road. From Spit, a small path led to the fort, situated on the saddle above, but that path ended there. Fort... or at least that was what they called the four wooden planks that housed the remaining garrison of ten men and a donkey used for transporting food.

Panvel took the path leading to the pass and began to climb. His monthly leave day was over.

His thoughts drifted to the innkeeper’s daughter, her ample bosom a frequent source of satisfaction for him (and for half the village) in exchange for a few coins.

He thought of himself—of when he had both eyes. That was real life. Back then, no one would have considered burying him in this stinking hole, guarding nothing. Well, perhaps the fact that his previous commander had found him drunk under a table during an enemy attack had something to do with it. He quickly pushed that unpleasant thought out of his head. "As soon as I get to the fort," he thought, "I'll send everyone to dig the new latrine. Yes, I'll set them all to work."

He reflected on how miserly fate had been with him. The entire month stationed at the fort had granted him only one day for drinking and revelry. After all, what else could you do in such a place? How could he earn the glory, fame, and wealth rightfully due to a valiant soldier like him?

The sun was now high in the sky, and he was sweating profusely from climbing that damned path. It was unfair to force someone of his size to exert himself like this.

He took the canteen attached to his rucksack and drank. As he raised his head, he noticed for the first time the wisp of smoke rising from the pass—from the fort.

"It's mid-morning, and those greedy fools are already cooking. Don’t they realize they have to carry the wood up each time?" he muttered to himself.

He resumed his climb, vowing to make the cook and Corporal Ler, whom he had left in charge, pay him back.

The sun was hot and nearly at its zenith. Panvel was drenched in sweat, but he was almost there. He climbed the last few meters to the large boulder that hid the fort from view. Leaning against the boulder, he turned to look.

At first, he did not understand what he was seeing. He tried to focus, but the image did not resolve as he was accustomed to. The palisade surrounding the fort lay in ruins. Where the only turret had once stood, a trickle of smoke rose from the stumps of the supporting logs.

"By Odr, the one-eyed god! But what..." escaped his lips. He quickened his pace and arrived at what used to be the back door, now an empty space. The courtyard was also deserted. He walked toward the dormitories—nothing. He ran to the canteen and the officers' quarters—still nothing. Everywhere he looked, there was devastation: smoke and burnt stumps of logs. He sat on an overturned bucket in the middle of the courtyard, wiping the sweat from his brow. The palisade had also collapsed on the side opposite the gate, facing the Unknown Lands.

"What the hell happened? Where is everybody? That crazy cook said he would set the fort on fire sooner or later... and it looks like he really did!" he thought.

He was distracted by the sound of a crow's wings fluttering over the ruins of the palisade. In its beak was food—or rather, a large berry, or perhaps it looked like a worm with... a human eye attached!

Panvel leapt to his feet in disgust, suppressing a gag as he ran toward the raven and the gap in the downed palisade.

It was then that he saw them. Immediately behind the palisade lay a heap of hideous leftovers—what remained of his partially slaughtered men. Open-mouthed and with his heart pounding, he leaned against the palisade, his mind clouded.

"But who... What..." he stammered. A mist hovered over the plains beyond the pass... but no, it could not be a mist—not under the midday sun. He looked closer. Smoke. From a thousand fires. Where there had been only emptiness for a hundred years, now an immense army was encamped. In the distance, drums began to sound—the drums of the orc horde. But it wasn't just one horde; it must have been all the hordes gathered together! Unthinkable! More hordes of hideous beasts standing united instead of fighting each other to destruction.

Finally, he roused himself. An icy thought crept under his skin: they are here, and I am in danger! Meanwhile, he heard a rustling behind a bush. Frost gripped his limbs. "I am lost." He felt the bush move behind him and began to tremble as he slowly turned, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword, more for a sense of strength and dignity than for actual use.

There they are. The bush finally opened, revealing a hideous, hairy snout that emitted a loud braying noise. Raglio—that was its name—was the donkey used to transport supplies to the fort. Just over a meter tall, he trotted up, hoping for a carrot. Pavnel’s legs felt weak, his breathing labored. He sighed in relief but didn’t pause to think about it. With an athletic leap that surprised both him and the donkey, he jumped onto Raglio's back. Wrapping his arms around the donkey's neck, he began kicking at its hips. Raglio, unaccustomed to such treatment, set off at a braying trot—the maximum speed allowed by the sergeant's weight.

Raglio had barely taken three steps when a figure further up the path awoke to the noise. He leapt to his feet and took in the scene before him. Had he possessed a human sense of humor, he might have laughed at the sight of the fat human frantically kicking the much smaller donkey beneath him, trotting away under the weight. But he was not human. He saw only a cowardly being trying to flee, and he intended to stamp him with a mark of dishonor. Grabbing his bow, which lay nearby, he aimed a large, squat arrow and fired almost without aiming.

Pavnel felt a hissing, burning pain in his back. All of this was too much for him. He clasped his hands around Raglio's neck, and then everything went dark. "Is death then oblivion?" was his last thought as his eyes closed, and darkness descended upon him.

Raglio was a donkey, but only by breed. He was actually quite cultured and believed himself to be far more intelligent than the average donkey—or even most humans. At least, that’s what he thought. Certainly, he was smarter than the foolish sergeant who had latched onto him. Orcs didn’t typically find donkeys like him appetizing, but with a plump human on his back, he could have become a target too. So, he quickly made his way down the...

Produkt-Details

• Erscheint lt. Verlag: 8.12.2024
• Sprache: englisch
• Themenwelt: Literatur ► Fantasy / Science Fiction ► Fantasy
• ISBN-10: 0-00-104856-2 / 0001048562
• ISBN-13: 978-0-00-104856-0 / 9780001048560