The Reader

Chapter One - Prologue

Cover art is copyright to BlackHauraki@deviantart.com (2011).

Characters, plots and placenames are copyright to Clair Touchet (2010).

Don't make me go Jackie Chan on yo' ass.

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Chapter One.

The formidable peaks of the Savar Mountains towered imperially over the plains. Jagged, knife-edge ridges severed the skyline, punching upward as if they were angry that the sun dared shine upon them. Smooth faces, tanned bare by relentless winds, boasted sheer drops of thousands of feet. Only the sturdiest of trees dared grow there, anchoring their roots stubbornly into the rock, hiding from the heat in chasms that snaked between the peaks.

The mountains began on the brink of the Great Sea. They did not rise gradually and lazily, but started abruptly as if they had been split by a massive, divine hand. The cliffs there were craggy, inhabited only by brave gulls who dared to build their nests on the precipice. The birds hunkered down, protecting their young from the vicious off-shore breeze, while hundreds of feet below the sea hissed and roared with anger, throwing itself against the rock in a white-foamed frenzy.

As the mountains curled eastward there was no cease to their rugged terrain. Not one peak stood under a league in height, each attempting to stab higher than the last. Twisted gullies sliced through them in lightning-bolt fashion, their floors rocky and dry. Thorny snarlberry bushes inhabited these rifts, leeching whatever water they could through the solid bedrock.

Skinny wolves scavenged whatever they could in order to survive. On clear nights lonely howls echoed through the ravines, magnified to travel great distances across the patchwork plains below. These cries set alight the dogs of the land, filling the night air with baying and convincing villagers that the hounds of hell were loose.

To the people of Ohadi the Savar Mountains represented death. On the other side of the ranges lay a barren, sterile desert where nothing could survive, and beyond that the world ended. Anyone fool enough to venture across the badlands simply walked off the edge.

Even when the mountains stopped, the wasteland continued, stretching into the empty distance with nothing to distract from its uniformity. An occasional ominous skeleton, picked clean by carrion crows, served as a constant reminder of its perils.

It was in this bleak, desolate place that King Gavrilo commissioned the construction of a fortress. Consisting of three crenellated walls, and housing over a thousand men, Fort Savar was a formidable stronghold. In the centre of a wide courtyard, towering over the barracks and stables, an ugly keep with narrow windows stood sentinel. It was home only to a weapon of deadly power.

Hidden in a dungeon deep underground, protected by a tangled maze of interlocking corridors enchanted with magical shields, rested the Book of Elements.

The Book was centuries old, handed down from generation to generation of Ohadian rulers. Gavrilo himself had no idea how to use it, but he had heard the horror stories. Black rumours dating back before remembering told of the Book's terrific power. The more popular legends, commonly recounted in taverns, told of battles where the Book cut down swaths of attacking enemy forces, leaving death and devastation in its wake.

Less well known were the written accounts of survivors and witnesses, as these were kept in Gavrilo's private library available only to him and his personal scholars. They described a mysterious warrior named by all as the "Reader". He was the only one able to understand the language the Book was written in. Depending on which passage he chose, different magic would be unleashed.

Some words released a tremendous wall of flame thirty feet high, which raced in an unstoppable wave and reduced all before it to cinders. Other passages called terrible storms, or made the earth shake and open underfoot, swallowing entire armies of men. Still more turned day to dark, whipped up huge sandstorms and caused mountains of fire to spew forth torrents of magma.

When the Reader disappeared, so too did the Book's power. In the centuries that had passed since the great battles no new Reader had surfaced and the Book waxed useless.

Nevertheless, it still remained a symbol of immense power and Gavrilo went to great lengths to protect it. Fort Savar was just another in a string of heavily guarded citadels the King had ordered built to harbour the Book. The others dotted the countryside like ghost cities, abandoned by all but curious children who scrambled through the buildings searching for treasure.

Gavrilo was proud of his latest fort. It was the largest, most heavily fortified bastion so far. The walls were twenty-five feet high and made of smooth stone blocks, carved from the Saboa Mountains far to the north. There were three of these walls, spaced far enough from each other to prohibit men from jumping across the gaps. There were no bridges between them, the soldiers keeping watch had to descend rope ladders and pass through portcullises.

Once inside, the layout was open. Barracks, stables and store-rooms were built hugging the stone. The wide, open courtyard was kept free from clutter to permit archers a clear shot if the walls were breached. Everything was in its proper place so as to be on hand immediately in an emergency. Paranoia was paramount. Whenever dust was kicked up in the distance cavalry would ride out to intercept the intruder. More often than not it was simply a merchant's carriage, travelling off the trade route.

On rare occasions it was an important guest: the King himself. Gavrilo delighted in testing his guards, arriving in convoy to inspect them. He was always met with angry glares and drawn steel. They took their job seriously; proud, loyal men who would gladly give their lives to the cause.

Today, many would.