The Fhyrrstorm
Guardians of Kallor Book One
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.
THE FHYRRSTORM
First edition. October 15, 2020.
Copyright © 2020 Peter Glenn.
Written by Peter Glenn.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Acknowledgements
Prologue
Chapter One | Teryn, the Wizard
Chapter Two | The Guild Council
Chapter Three | The Prince's Birthday
Chapter Four | The Youngest Sage
Chapter Five | Priest Material
Chapter Six | The King is Dead, Long Live the King
Chapter Seven | Lost Magic
Chapter Eight | The Arena
Chapter Nine | War Stories
Chapter Ten | The Magic Archives
Chapter Eleven | The Great Dragon
Chapter Twelve | A Chance Encounter
Chapter Thirteen | Coontan’s King
Chapter Fourteen | Dragon’s Quest
Chapter Fifteen | The Terrible Night
Author’s Notes
Acknowledgements
Dedication: Many thanks to my wife Jennie, for inspiring me to take up the pen again after all these years. I couldn’t have done this without you.
Beta readers: Matthew Glenn, Jared LeBaron
Editor: Jeff Cunningham https://jdcuneganbooks.com/
Cover Designer: Uwe Jarling https://www.facebook.com/CoversbyJoolzJarling/
“And in the last days,
A leader of unknown origin shall be found
Who shall lead the good to victory
Over the dark one and his minions.
And this leader shall wield great magic,
And he shall have with him many artifacts,
And shall command a team of saints
That will rid the evil from the world.”
Book of Gallian, 12:1-2.
Prologue
“And thus shall evil enter this earth:
Through a crack in the earth and a gate in the sky.”
Book of Gallian, 11:26.
Year 4926 (Seventy-three years ago)
The necromancer sat in his rocking chair, waiting for the sign he knew would come. He was a careful planner, and he knew tonight was the night. At least, he was mostly certain. His thoughts turned briefly to what would come after tonight, after the ritual was complete.
All the world will bow to my every whim. Finally, I’ll get the recognition I deserve and take my rightful place as ruler of this wretched planet.
He let out a deep sigh.
If only that blasted sign would come.
He had waited some years for this night to come, spending most of that time in his small apartment, rocking back and forth in his chair. During his earlier years, he had traveled over most of Kallor, gathering the necessary knowledge and equipment. He had moved in secret, hiding from authorities, to gather his small cache of arcane items, all in preparation for tonight’s event.
A shudder ran down his spine as he remembered those fateful early days in Plaxstempton, the land where his dreams had come to life and stalked him. But now that was all behind him. Now he simply waited.
Still, he had never learned complete patience, and now that he knew it was the right night, he was restless, not wanting to wait any longer.
The man uttered a short chant to calm his spirit, knowing full well he could not complete the tasks to come while in a bad mood. Then he breathed in another deep sigh and resigned himself to wait some more.
Just then a cold, harsh wind blew down his chimney, putting out his little fire.
“Blasted wind,” he muttered.
With a flick of his wrist, he called upon his limited magic powers to re-light the fire via a simple candleflicker spell. Though the incantation was simple, it still made him wince to use it. Magic wasn’t a talent the man had been born with, so every effort – even tiny ones – expended a bit of his life force.
It was a hefty price to pay, but it was worth it to him. Frankly, he felt lucky to even have this option – most magical communities still believed dark magic didn’t exist, so trainers in the necromantic arts were few and far between. Though if he had his way, that wouldn’t be true for much longer.
Within moments, the wind came back and put his fire out again.
“Impossible!” he scowled.
Magic fires weren’t like normal fires. No ordinary wind should have been able to douse that flame. He cast his spell again anyway, not wanting to sit in the cold and dark. At least, not tonight. Once again, the wind came back within moments to put out his magical fire a second time.
His mind instantly went to the words of the ancient prophecy: Thrice shall the evil winds come, and thrice shall they extinguish the light. He smiled. This must be it. The sign he’d been waiting for. But he had to be sure. One last time, he lit the fire with his magic. This time, the strain hurt more than just a little bit, and the effort caused a blister to form under his left arm. He groaned from the pain.
A small price to pay if I’m right.
He eagerly waited, eyes glinting in the firelight. Soon enough, the wind came back and put out his fire yet again. His smile broadened further. Now he was certain it was the night he had waited so long for.
A night like this came only once every thousand years. A night when both moons were full and shined their eerie light directly over the lost island of Alpha. A night when magic power practically bled out of the ground and the skies, making even the most complex rituals possible. It was said that even Tytin magic was discovered on one of these nights, so many eons ago. But of that, no one could be certain. Nor did it matter now.
The necromancer slowly got up from his chair and headed outside his small apartment. He squashed a cockroach on the ground as he went, trying not to pay any attention to the three that took its place.
This is the last night I will have to sleep in such filth. After tonight, the world will be mine, and I will sleep in a castle that floats high above the ground! If only the fools at the Wizard Guild could see me now.
He stretched and took a breath of the fresh, cold night air - his first one in well over a week. The cold stung his lungs and he forced out a muffled cough.
No matter. The pain will end soon enough.
His eyes instinctively scanned
