White Mountain – The reality and the fantasy!

Extracts from Chapter One & Two of ‘White Mountain’ – Book 1 of The Darkling Chronicles:

The deepening sun scorched the snowy drifts turning them cherry pink, as it cast its dying rays over the peaks and popular winter resorts of the skiing elite.

Shadows of dusk lengthened, as lights twinkled in the valley below. Above the hustle and bustle of bistro and café life, chic alpine lodges, ski schools and cable cars, White Mountain loomed.

Its towering flanks gleamed in the fading light, its secret heart still safe, still undisturbed …the ancient ancestral home of an old sorcerer.

The next day dawned bright and clear. Sunlight streamed through narrow slit-like windows cut high in the mountainside. It was a cold beautiful September morning. Gralen’s cavernous room and the corridors outside echoed with the big dragon’s snoring. Mr. Agyk had had an unusually fitful sleep, full of worrying dreams and dark shifting images. He was tired and restless when he awoke and had a distinct feeling of apprehension. Belloc’s distressing cryptic message kept playing through his mind. He shook his head and carefully lifted the heavy latch of Gralen’s door. It creaked open. The dragon was fast asleep and snoring on his huge bed of willowgrass and snootledown feathers, his wings wrapped tightly round him like great leathery sheets.

The wizard stood framed in the doorway for a moment watching his old friend. A stream of autumnal light slowly crept down the walls towards the slumbering figure, igniting thousands of floating dust specks in its wake, like a trail of tiny falling stars. He loved mornings, the slow awakening of the world, the beginning of things. Gralen of course was quite the opposite. He loved the night, especially for flying, and if his stomach didn’t wake him demanding food, he could quite easily sleep the whole morning away and most of the afternoon.

“Rise and shine!” the wizard called at last. he waved a hand at the roof and part of it promptly slid back, opening the room to the sky and the pale morning sun.

Gralen stirred and opened a bleary eye.

The Lay of Fendellin – ‘The Lost Kingdom Of Dragons’…

Excerpt taken from Chapter Thirteen – The Encircling Mountains:

Korrun shifted uneasily. “King Dorrol knows far more than me. He has given you all that you need, here…” he pointed to a bundle of curled scrolls in the sack by Gralen’s side.

“I would still like to hear tales of it.”

The dwelf sighed. “I could tell you the ‘Lay of Fendellin’. It is a very old ballad, more of a lament really,” he mumbled.

The others looked keen, even Gralen. Korrun sighed again and smiled awkwardly, then twisting a tree branch in the fire, he began. His voice was low and soft and as he spoke, his eyes never leaving the dying coals, a hint of pain seemed to pass over his face.

 

“Pass now beyond the mountains white

Where frosted rivers leap and spring,

Amongst the golden grasses light

Where fÿrrens dwell and soar and sing.

 

A land as old and fair as stars

Of snowy peaks and moonlit seas,

Of darkling woods we travel far

To gaze upon its silvery leaves.

 

A flame that springs eternal fire

A city in the misty sky,

A beauty which shall never tire

Amongst the banners flying high.

 

A sheltered haven, a sacred land

An ancient place of Kings,

A shining sword, a fiery brand

Where magic dwells therein.

 

Far East beyond heart’s lost desire

The birthplace of the eldest kin,

Through rising sun on wings of fire

Lies forgotten Fendellin.”

 

“That was beautiful!” said Wendya, watching the dwelf’s eyes as he stared into the fire.

“It sounds like a wondrous place!” replied Mr. Agyk. “Perhaps you will find your dragons there after all, my old friend!”

Gralen smiled but kept quiet, his eyes fixed on the witch and dwelf.

The Call of Kallorm – ‘City of Light’…

Excerpt taken from Chapter Nine – Kallorm:

At that moment the pair were aware of a voice, thin and clear and full of sadness, singing softly in the darkness beyond. 

 

 

Beneath a canopy of stars

Its whispering waters flow,

Beneath the towers standing tall

Lies my heart and home.

 

A city great of dworllian past

Three mountains and a palace white,

Nine gates to pass and bridges all

To reach the secret realm of light.

 

A veil of silver, a thundering roar

A crystal dome, a rain bowed beam

I hear the song of Kallorm call

Within my heart, its mists must fall. 

 

Kallorm, Kallorm, come call me home

To dance and sing in Tarro’s spring,

Kallorm, Kallorm, come call me home

To rest amongst your sheltered stone.

 

Wendya came back, picking her way through the twisted mangrove roots, her hair damp from the sea spray, her eyes downcast. She sat next to the fire.

“I used to sing that ballad as a child, but the true melody is sadder…” she murmured.