Palâdnith Chronicles). The final stages before publication are an exciting period for an author. The long months of edits are over - the rewrites, exasperation, and even more rewrites, are done. Now its about making the novel shine. For those of you who are patiently waiting - your wait is almost over! In the meantime, I have pasted in the Prologue of The Citadel of Lies into this blog post, to whet your appetite!
If you enjoy the Prologue and would like to read more, but haven't yet read the first book in the series, here's a link to it on Amazon: Journey of Shadows (Book One of the Palâdnith Chronicles) - available in Kindle edition (US$2.99) or in paperback (US$10.44).
If you enjoy the Prologue and would like to read more, but haven't yet read the first book in the series, here's a link to it on Amazon: Journey of Shadows (Book One of the Palâdnith Chronicles) - available in Kindle edition (US$2.99) or in paperback (US$10.44).
As the theme of this book centres of the difference between truth and lies, the tale begins with a quote from the great Marcus Aurelius.
The
Citadel
of
Lies
Book Two of
the Palâdnith Chronicles
Sam J. Charlton
Everything we hear is an
opinion, not a fact.
Everything we see is a
perspective, not the truth.
Marcus
Aurelius
Prologue
The Messenger
“My
Queen, I bring news.”
The
voice rasped, breaking the endless silence.
“Obviously,
or you wouldn’t be here. Tell me, have my servants succeeded?”
The
woman’s gaze slid over the ravaged creature that bowed before her. Like the
others, he would serve her till she chose to free him. Although she could not
communicate directly with the four she had sent out through the portal, the
others here could share their thoughts. They were one entity, the keepers – and
now they served only her.
The
keeper before her cringed and stepped back from his mistress before replying.
“The
brothers still elude their hunters.”
The
woman frowned.
“How
is that possible?” she enunciated each word carefully, as if speaking to a
half-wit. “How have three creatures, bred for one purpose only, failed me?”
“They
have not failed you yet mistress. The youngest of the three brothers escaped on
horseback. He travelled inland and entered the Valley of the Tors, where the
Malwagen took him captive. There, your servant could not reach him. He managed
to escape the sprites, and his hunter has now tracked him to Mirfaran. The
assassin sent after the weaponsmith travelled to Catedrâl, only to find his
quarry three days gone – he now tracks him through the Rocklands towards
Tarras. The eldest brother survived two attacks during his journey west, before
he met with Floriana DeSanith on the road across the High Dragon Spines. She
has given him courage and purpose.”
The
messenger’s voice trailed off then, watching as his mistress’s face grew
thunderous.
“I
gave my own blood to create those creatures,” she hissed, her eyes narrowing
into slits, “and they cannot catch three unsuspecting and untrained men!”
“There
is still time my Queen! Your servants close in, even as we speak. They will not
fail you.”
The
woman clenched her fists and waited for her murderous rage to pass.
“They
had better not. What news of my fourth servant. Has he found it yet?”
“Not
yet my Queen. He searches still, but it has been hidden well.”
“Over
two decades in that place and still no closer to retrieving it – I am very
disappointed in you all.”
The
servant quivered, but wisely kept silent.
The
woman waved him away.
“Leave
me. I cannot stand the sight of any of you!”
The
messenger shuffled back, bowing so low that his knuckles scraped on the damp
stone. Relieved to have survived the encounter, the creature stepped onto a
rope bridge that creaked under his weight, and hurried away.
Riadamor,
Queen of Moden sighed. She suddenly felt old and weary beyond description. She
looked about her with disdain. What a foul domain she ruled. Three decades of
residence in this wretched prison had not made her accept her fate.
She
stood on the stone platform; the very place she and Belythna had awoken on the
day of their arrival. It was the portal into Moden but in thirty years there
had been no other newcomers – they had been the last.
It
had been from this platform that she had sent her four servants forth. After
years of experiment and failure, she had discovered that, unlike mortals, the
Keepers of Moden could pass through the portal. The keepers she had chosen had
not wanted to go, but torture had made them biddable. She had sent the first
one out years ago, but had been forced to wait till the brothers’ Sentorân
charms no longer protected them before she could send forth the others. It had
taken a powerful spell, and much of her own blood, but she had eventually
succeeded in transporting her servants out of Moden and into Palâdnith – the
world she was desperate to return to.
In
reality, the platform on which she stood was the flat top of a rock pillar that
rose from the centre of the abyss and anchored a network of rope bridges. It
was a solitary island of stone in an empty sea, and five paces from one side to
the other.
Riadamor
circled the platform, her long silver gown rustling as she strode. With
Belythna dealt with – imprisoned in one of the many cells that lined the cavern
walls – time stretched out with agonising slowness. Moden held her in stasis.
She did not need to eat or sleep; she would never grow old or die. The boredom
of her existence had almost broken her but still she fought it.
I will not be
defeated,
Riadamor vowed, my servants will do my
bidding and I will leave this place.
The
witch knelt then and placed her hands on the cold stone beneath her feet.
I came into
Moden through this stone and I will leave the same way.
Patience, my fellow epic fantasy adventure lovers - the rest is coming soon!
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