Sarah Ash – fantasy author

Prologue

Seven, They Were Seven, the Dark Angels of Destruction

Sardion, Arkhan of Enhirre, stared up at the watch fires burning on the battlements of the ancient fortress of Ondhessar. For centuries it had towered over the desert, his country’s strongest bastion against invaders, concealing a priceless treasure in its vaults: the shrine dedicated to Azilis, the Eternal Singer. For centuries it had been his family’s sacred duty to protect the sacred Lodestar that housed her spirit, aided by the secret sect of the magi of Ondhessar, his Emissaries. Read the rest of this entry »

Chapter 1

The Aethyr Vox stood on Magister Linnaius’s desk collecting dust. It had stood there for many weeks, awaiting its inventor’s return. And Rieuk Mordiern, Linnaius’s apprentice, had been assigned to cleaning duties again. With a feather duster, he began to clean the delicate mechanism.

“Apprentice alchymist? Unpaid servant, more like,” he muttered to the empty laboratory.

In his master’s absence, Rieuk had been kept busy assisting Magister de Maunoir, but he was still charged with the task of keeping Linnaius’s laboratory clean, in readiness for his return. Read the rest of this entry »

Chapter 1

‘I’m old.’ Kiukiu stared in disbelief at her reflection. ‘I’m an old woman.’ Her fingertips moved over her lined face, lifting her wild, dry locks of greying hair, searching in vain for a thread of gold. She was so shocked she could only stare at the ageing stranger in the mirror glass. ‘How long was I gone?’

‘Many days, my dear.’ Malusha had never called her ‘my dear’ before. That in itself made Kiukiu even more fearful. ‘Too many days.’

‘There’s a remedy, isn’t there, Grandma?’ She turned to Malusha. ‘Tell me what to do, I’ll do it. No matter what it is.’

Malusha sat a moment, thinking. ‘I’ll go put the kettle on,’ she said, easing herself up from Kiukiu’s side. Making tea was Malusha’s remedy for all ills, great and small. Read the rest of this entry »

Prologue

Gavril Nagarian, Lord Drakhaon of Azhkendir, entered Saint Sergius’s shrine and closed the door softly behind him. Flames from ochre beeswax candles shimmered in the gloom. The air smelled of bitter incense and honeyed candlesmoke.

The radiant figure of the Blessed Sergius dominated the ancient mural, staff upraised to defend his flock from the dark Drakhaon. Even the saint’s face had been covered with gold leaf by the artist. In contrast, only the Drakhaon’s eyes glinted in the candlelight, jewelled with chips of blue glass. The rest of his winged daemon-form had been painted black as shadow. Read the rest of this entry »

Prologue

The Clan Lord lies dying, his eyes wandering, glazing over as he reaches out blindly to grasp his lieutenant’s arm.

‘Over…at last…old friend…’ The hand falls away, his grizzled head lolls sideways, sightless eyes sliding upwards, clear at last, as if a dark veil has melted away.

And as his faithful friend watches, his sight dimmed with tears, he sees -

A shadow, black as a stormcloud, slowly rise from the still body of his master, lift and gather itself until it hovers over him: a great winged daemon-serpent, terrible and puissant.

‘Drakhaoul,’ he whispers, in awe and terror. Read the rest of this entry »