Excerpt: THE RIFT WAR

From Uncial Press

Book 5 of the Zygradon Chronicles

Excerpt:

Grego staggered to his feet and took a deep breath. He stretched out his right arm, snapped his fingers, and held his hand out, palm up. Blue sparks danced across his fingertips, and answering sparks opened a panel in the stone pillar of the arched opening in the raw stone wall that surrounded the Rakkell estate. A thumb ring of woven threads of star-metal, glowing softly blue and silver, flew through the air to land on his palm. He inhaled deeply, feeling another missing piece of himself had come home, as he slipped the ring onto his thumb. His inborn imbrose flared to life.

"By the grace and mercy of the Estall," he whispered, renewing his vows as he turned to continue down the path. "By the imbrose in my blood. I do swear my life, my strength, my honor to the Warhawk, and to his daughter, my queen."

Grego's euphoria vanished with the force of a house collapsing. He usually didn't mind the physical reaction when Mrillis' mind-shield spell went dormant, every time he crossed onto the property. The wonder and awe of sharing such a world-shattering secret made up for the price he had to pay. After all, he had requested the mind-shield when he earned his position at the Science Directorate.

Illis Rakkell and Emmi were in actuality Mrillis the enchanter and Emrillian Warhawk, daughter of Athrar. Sixteen years ago, the spell that protected Emrillian and let her sleep through the ages had been attacked and destroyed by Edrout, son of Megassa and the Nameless One. Mrillis had brought Emrillian to Moerta, to raise her in the modern world and prepare her for the day she would return to Lygroes, to lead the Valors of Quenlaque in defending their land against Edrout and his Encindi barbarians, and prepare for the return of Athrar.

Grego had met them only a few days after coming to live with his grandparents, just an old man and a little girl, five years old, having a picnic in the forest. He might have continued exploring the forest, lost in the haze of pain from the death of his parents, but Mrillis had been drawing pictures with light, making Emrillian laugh and the Threads dance. Grego had seen the light and the Threads and felt the humming of power in the air that enclosed the clearing, and he stayed, fascinated, pulled out of his misery.

By seeing the lights that day, he had proven he had imbrose, and that had been enough for Mrillis to listen to his heart, to his sense of destiny, and take the lonely, hurting boy under his wing. Grego had been included in Emrillian's lessons about the history of Quenlaque, the Rey'kil, magic, and warfare. He had investigated the Archaics, devoted to scholarship, delving through the many false legends Mrillis and Meghianna, Queen of Snows had sown through the centuries, to protect the truth. It had been the natural thing to join the Archaics and search for others who had imbrose, and when he was sure they were trustworthy, to introduce Mrillis and Emrillian to them. The plan was to recruit from those trusted friends among the Archaics who had proven themselves honorable, skilled, and devoted to Quenlaque, and take them down the tunnel beneath the sea someday, to help in the defense of Lygroes.