Orb Of Zorn, Book #2
Fantasy
Date Published: 04-19-2024
When the Shadowlord steals part of the orb of eternity, his power surges. He has unleashed a mighty host of orcs and trolls and acquires an invaluable new henchman in Borg Bearslayer. Young Elcon goes through a battery of new trials and tribulations and is tested by powers he never imagined. Only by forging an alliance with the gray elf, Rowena Ravenwill, the brash dwarf Brom, and the last of the great swordsmen of the western realms does he stand a chance against the Shadowlord.
In this sequel to The Heir Apparent, a gloomier dawn emerges, and stakes are much higher for the young mage. The boundaries are blurred even further when the Walszman encounters the witch-like Lef Sagori. Will he succumb to the dark side of magic or will Elcon add great new deeds to his Van Zorn legacy?
The murderous mob of trolls and orcs stormed through the village, smashing everything in its way. A solid row, eight-strong, eight-deep barreled over the ill-equipped men in their path, chanting praises to Varshok, the god of war. They pounded mighty fists upon their armored chests and swung sabers with great fervor. Bloodlust and a maddening zeal for mayhem drove the vile creatures to unleash their doom.
A squeal of terror issued from an unfortunate bloke as a double-edged blade rendered his right arm useless. The fright of their victims only heightened the pleasure of the monstrous mob. They torched a tavern and roared with devious laughter as the frenzied patrons ran into halberds and sabers. The stench of beastly sweat and mortal fear filled the crisp night, and another sleepy village got wiped off the map.
Away in a meadow, at least a two-day trek by roan, stood the Lef Sagori and her tyro. Scya rested her right hand below her breast. Her face twisted in agony, and she almost felt the wind knocked out of her. Talia turned to her teacher, but the Lef Sagori would not let her tyro interfere.
Scya appeared to be choking on something, though whatever it was did not come up. She fell to her knees and began heaving. Her face purpled, and her mouth bubbled with spittle as she writhed in agony. And then, a gush of pinkish pulp shot out from her lips. She tried to contain it, but it sputtered away, a scarlet red node. It scuttled off over a rolling hillock as Talia raced after it.
Scya screamed for her tyro to return, but the other was far gone. Talia made the hopeless dash over the hill and returned emptyhanded. The teacher appeared to relish the failure, though she held herself in grim repose.
“This is unacceptable!” Scya scolded. “You don’t know the way yet.”
“How can I,” Talia protested. “When you do nothing but speak to me in riddles.”
“You know enough to trust me, to trust my lead.”
“Yes,” Talia admitted. “But I can help, too.”
Scya would not look at her tyro. She peered off into the distance where the red node had stolen off.
“I think I know what it was,” Talia said.
“Careful. You may wish to retract your wit.”
“What wrong could come from my hazarding a guess?” the tyro said in an innocent way.
The innocence had worn off quite a way back. It whittled down to a wick from the moment she left her uncle’s inn. From the moment Talia had decided to pledge fealty to the Third Sister of the Lef Sagori, she had cast her lot. She still had not earned the green wing. The hoary mark of the soul-scrubber had only come to a select few. Scya warned Talia that it was more of a burden than a blessing, and though the young tyro had seen her teacher swallow a demon during their visit to Grimwild, she had never witnessed its aftereffect.
The scarlet node had already vanished, though its hideous escape left an indelible image for the tyro. What did it taste like? How did it affect one’s body, and would there be more spitting up? And, of course, there was that leading question. When would it happen to her?
Scya did not engage in the topic but did as she did best. She dodged and parried her curious tyro’s queries. From sunup to sundown, along hills and dales, she remained as inscrutable as a sphinx.
They carried on for a long while. They passed a string of small villages and a couple of dreary copses. They loped along a weed-ridden prairie, and then, as they came upon a brook, the Lef Sagori turned to her tyro. “Perlania,” she said. “We must go there.”
“Where is that?” asked Talia.
“All the way to the east, near the edge of our world. It is the birthplace of our founders.”
“Is that where the demon heads?” Talia inquired.
“We go there because we must.”
The tyro nodded in agreement. “Then, by all means, lead the way.”
About the Author
Before his words found their way into print, John snapped the Eyesore of the Week for the Queens Ledger. His stories, essays, and articles have appeared in over 50 journals worldwide. His newest book Return Of The Shadowlord (Orb Of Zorn #2) is AVAILABLE for PRE-ORDER. John is also the author of the novels, The Heir Apparent (Orb Of Zorn #1), The Acolyte And The Amulet (Nebilon #1), Quest For The Hope Box (Nebilon #2), Beyond The Vicious Vortex, Shades of Luz, Disposable Heroes, and From Here To Burmidia.
Contact Links
Instagram: @johngorman12
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