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Unbeknown to him, a magical talisman has been recovered and the whole of Thrandor stands blissfully unaware that disaster is poised to strike.

So begins the Darkweaver Legacy ...

Prologue from The Darkweaver Legacy: Book 1

    Demarr stumbled, bone weary.  The end of another day of hard walking over the forbidding terrain of the Terachim wastes was drawing near.  The attack came without warning, a huge shape lunging out of the rapidly lengthening shadows.  It was the loose rock that saved him in that initial instant.  Even as Demarr stumbled he sensed the movement in his peripheral vision and rolled into the mis-step, drawing his sword as he fell.  The creature’s jaws snapped closed on empty air a split second behind him.

     Adrenalin slammed into his system as Demarr rolled into a fighting crouch, all tiredness forgotten and survival instincts taking over.  ‘Whatever the beast is, it’s big and it’s damned fast,’ he thought.

     The low cliffs loomed unnaturally large in the half-light of dusk as the sun, sinking blood red into the desert, played its daily game with the shadows.  Out of a large crack in the cliff face the massive head arrowed down on its long, heavily scaled neck.  Demarr dived to the right, again narrowly escaping death as the vicious teeth clashed terrifyingly close by.

     ‘What the hell is that thing?’ he thought, as he scrambled for cover into a line of rocks.

     Shrugging off his pack, Demarr ventured a glance around the large rock behind which he had taken refuge.  At first he could see nothing, the inky black fissure cloaking the creature in darkness.  Then, with a slight clatter of disturbed stone, the attacker stepped jerkily out into the open.

     ‘Great Tarmin!  It’s a firedrake,’ he breathed, stunned by the reality of his situation.  Firedrakes had been thought extinct for generations, and in some quarters had begun to be regarded as legendary creatures created by the over-active minds of minstrels intent on making their sagas more entertaining.  Yet here was a firedrake, larger than he had ever imagined possible and infinitely more dangerous.

     The firedrake stuttered forwards a few more steps, its head and long neck swaying slowly from side to side and its elongated scaly body partially emerging from its lair.  Demarr squinted as he peered into the half-light, his thoughts racing as he weighed up his options.  There was nowhere to run, and to attack would be suicidal.  He ducked back down behind the rock and his hand came to rest on an egg-sized stone.  Stalling for time, he grasped the pebble and flicked it out low and hard to his right.  The diversionary projectile clattered noisily to rest at the base of the cliff some thirty yards away, yielding an instantaneous result.  The firedrake’s head snapped round like lightning to face the rattling sound of the settling stone, and the huge creature’s body lurched slightly in the same direction.

     There was a slight pause as the firedrake seemed to assess the situation, a silhouetted statue of terror against the cliff.  Suddenly, bursting into motion, the beast charged along the base of the cliff to the impact point of the thrown pebble, its head arching forward in a blur of speed to find... nothing.  It stopped, momentarily confused, its head scanning constantly from left to right and its eyes probing the dusky shadows for signs of movement.

     A crack of stone sounded in the darkness and a huge boulder smashed into the firedrake’s shoulder.  Screaming in pain, the beast reared its head as a gigantic section of the cliff began to collapse towards it.  The rumble of falling rock drew Demarr to sneak a quick glance from his hiding place.  It seemed like the whole rock face was in motion and time seemed to stand still as the semi-darkness was filled with crashing rocks, tumbling as if in slow motion.  He crouched, frozen in place by the incredible scene unfolding before him, until a boulder the size of a beer barrel bounded past nearby, bringing him back to his senses.

     The air filled with choking dust as Demarr flattened himself behind the ever-dwindling security of his defensive barrier of rock.  The avalanche seemed to continue crashing around him for an age as he lay with his arms curled protectively over his head.  An apparent eternity later, silence settled like a blanket.  He could not believe his luck.  First the firedrake, then an avalanche, and he was not only still alive but also unharmed.

     Quickly and silently he opened his pack and pulled out an old shirt.  Tearing a wide band from the back of the garment, he folded the resulting strip of material in half and bound it around his lower face to form a filter against the dust.  Placing the remainder of the shirt back into his pack, he cautiously peered into the dust-filled darkness.  Demarr’s eyes streamed with grit-induced tears.  He could make out nothing.  Shouldering his pack and holding his sword warily in front of him, Demarr turned to retrace his steps towards the firedrake’s lair.  He reasoned that no other living creature would share such a retreat, so with the beast buried under the rockfall it made sense to make use of the shelter for the night, providing that the avalanche had not blocked the entrance.

     Demarr stepped carefully through the treacherous boulders and had taken no more than a dozen paces when there, no more than six feet in front of him, was the head of the firedrake.  The creature’s eyes were unfocused and its double eyelids were fluttering seemingly at random.  Without hesitation Demarr leapt forward, driving the point of his sword with all of his might into the nearest eye.  The already stunned firedrake lashed out automatically at this new source of pain, catching Demarr squarely in the chest with the side of its head.  The force of the blow lifted him off his feet, hurling him several yards through the air to land flat on his backpack.  Demarr’s head snapped back and connected hard with the ground, bringing instant unconsciousness.  Consequently he saw and heard nothing of the screeching, thrashing death throes of the firedrake as he lay unmoving long into the night.

     When he came to, Demarr was aware of nothing but a blinding headache and the bitter cold of the desert night.  It was black as pitch, the stars obscured by a curtain of high cloud.  All he could think of was getting warm and finding something, anything, to stop his violent shivering.  Struggling out of the shoulder straps of his backpack, he fumbled the ties open and pulled out his blanket.  Cocooning himself in it, he immediately plunged back into the oblivion of sleep.

     The sun crept its way up over the bleak horizon, bringing warmth back to the rock-strewn scene of carnage.  The raucous cries of feeding vultures dragged Demarr slowly to an awareness of his surroundings and of the pain in his head.  Slowly he pushed himself up to a sitting position, only to retch violently and immediately lie back down.

     ‘Concussion,’ he thought.  ‘I must rest, but not here.  It’s not safe.’  The events of the previous night flooded back.  Carefully, he sat up again.  This time his stomach did not betray him and he surveyed the scene around him, wide eyed with wonder.

     ‘How the hell did I get away with that?’ he muttered to himself, awed by the devastation of the avalanche and the size of the dead beast only yards away.

     Lifting himself slowly to his feet, Demarr draped his blanket around his shoulders and, dragging his pack, threaded his way to the huge black cave entrance.  Once there he paused briefly and sifted through his pack for his tinder, flint and small remaining piece of candle.  Finding them, he ventured on into the darkness, determined not to waste his precious resources unless absolutely necessary.

     The floor of the cave was even, making progress easy.  The solid rock surface underfoot soon gave way to a sandy dust layer that was dry and soft to walk on.  Surprisingly, the cave was not very deep and Demarr reached the furthest wall long before losing sight of the entrance.

     ‘Time for a quick look around,’ he thought, fumbling briefly with his flint as he lit the candle.  Shadows leapt around the cave, dancing about in the flickering light.  A small casket sitting against the back wall immediately caught his attention.

     ‘Well, well!  What have we here?’ he whispered to himself, kneeling down to examine his find.  The lid was not locked so, with hands that were trembling with a mixture of fatigue and excitement, he unclipped the ornate hasp and carefully lifted the lid.  It opened easily, as if the hinges had been kept perfectly oiled.  Inside, cradled on a bed of dark silk, gleamed a beautiful silver talisman.

     ‘At last my fortunes are changing,’ he breathed.