Epic Fantasy 0.9b

By Will Weisser

The Decay is coming, and Ian, a fifteen-year-old from the Northwestern Forests of the Region, must flee his home village or be melted into noxious brown goo. With the help of an eccentric mage and an annoyingly cheerful orphan, he escapes to the Capital, fending off quadrupedal orcs, superintelligent vultures, and some of the Region’s less desirable human residents. But when he encounters a mysterious stranger who reveals that the Region may not be what it appears, he must decide whether to stay faithful to his friends, or abandon them and seek the truth.

Not your typical fantasy or science fiction book, EPIC FANTASY 0.9b is a genre-bending trip through a strange and surprising realm, blending action, adventure, drama and humor into a fast-paced, unforgettable story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Will Weisser
• Release date: Jun 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476357058

Will Weisser

Born into a literary family (both his parents are authors and college professors), Will fell in love with science fiction and fantasy literature during the comics boom of the early 90’s and never looked back. Now residing in the fantastic realm known as the Philly ‘burbs, he uses his geek talents to program computers by day, while by night he huddles over unfinished manuscripts, attempting to engineer characters who touch the human spirit. In his scant free time he enjoys practicing martial arts (which he is pretty good at) and playing guitar (terribly).

Book preview

EPIC FANTASY 0.9b

By

Will Weisser

SMASHWORDS EDITION

PUBLISHED BY

The Metanautics Department on Smashwords

EPIC FANTASY 0.9b

Copyright © 2012 by Will Weisser

All rights reserved

Cover art by J. Daniel Batt

Edited by John Shutt

Map by T. J. Vandel, 2012

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Table of Contents

Map

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Back Matter

Map

Chapter 1

Ian looked down from the outcropping of gray rock, spying on the Dracinarium nestled in the gully. To his right, the path meandered back and forth, forming an easy route to its front door, but Ian was in no mood to prolong his journey. After a quick check to make sure the leather pouch was still attached to his belt, he leapt forward, bounding down the rock face with a few well-timed hops to the clearing below.

The Dracinarium, now less than a hundred paces away, was really nothing more than a simple thatched-roof shack with wispy smoke rising from its chimney. As he approached it, Ian kept his eyes locked on the mountain that loomed overhead, visible through the break in the tree cover. That was where the orcs lived. And beyond that, the Decay.

Ian had never liked visiting the Dracinarium; it made him nervous to travel so close to the force that had laid waste to entire continents. The fact that the elders of his village considered such thinking the hallmark of a troublemaker or a dunce didn’t matter to him. In his mind, it was simply a question of logic: orcs, owing to their partial immunity, would always take up residence in the border areas between the Decay and where mankind held dominion. And having done so, they would tend to press as close to the human sides as possible, where food would be most plentiful.

Then again, no one he knew had ever actually seen an orc. And besides, if the Decay did move south and the orcs invaded to escape from it, it wasn’t as if he’d be any safer in the village than he was here. Ian made his way around the hut, past Old Man Giesling’s vegetable garden and waste pit. He reached up and rapped three times on the metal plate affixed to the Dracinarium’s front door: an ornate bronze dragon with a curled tail, the crest of the Dracini school of magic.

One moment! came a muffled shout from the other side. There was a bit of commotion; sounds of a chair scooting and earthenware dishes being hastily put aside, and then the door opened and Old Man Giesling’s ruddy, pockmarked face presented itself in its place. Welcome to my Dracinarium, traveler, it is my pleasure to meet all of your needs that the order of the…oh, it’s you, Ian.

The old man ambled back the way he had come, leaving the door open as a sign of welcome. A hearth crackled on the opposite wall of the dwelling, making it unpleasantly warm. A low table strewn with various small objects lay to the right. Most of the objects resembled locks, child’s spintops, or other such useless doodads. But here and there among them, small charcoal-gray crystals stood out, their facets catching the glimmering firelight. In the center of the table, the clutter had been cleared for Giesling to eat his lunch.

Why do you always give that long speech whenever you open the door? Ian asked as the old man prepared to sit down again. You know as well as I do that no travelers ever come here.

Impertinent boy, Giesling said, brandishing his spoon. It’s what I’ve been instructed to say. When I was inducted into the order of the Dracini, I pledged to conduct my business in a manner befitting their traditions. When people come to a strange Dracinarium for the first time, they know what to expect; they want to be served with a certain speech and in a certain manner. Finding each Dracinarium the same throughout the region helps to put them at ease, and therefore increases sales.

Oh, come on, Ian said. When was the last time you even made a sale?

None of your business, Giesling snapped. Now, did you bring me my supplies, or have you come only to make light of me?

Ian nodded and unlaced the leather pouch from his belt. He placed it on the table with the opening up, so that it parted to reveal its contents: a dozen of the gray crystal gems, along with a few bundles of herbs wrapped in twine.

Excellent, I thank you for your service. The old man smiled and showed his grayish-brown teeth. When his face relaxed again, the two jowls on either side slid back into their places beneath the tufts of gray fuzz that served as sideburns.

Oh! I almost forgot. There was something else I was supposed to give you, too. A note… Ian withdrew a piece of folded parchment from his tunic and handed it over.

The old man held the letter close to his face and angled it to catch the light from the fireplace. Interesting. And I’m to understand that you haven’t read this?

Me? How would I know how to read it?

Ah, yes. Pardon my rudeness. It’s just that this note concerns you. It’s a request to take you on as my apprentice.

Ian’s eyes went wide. A magician’s apprentice? Him?

It did make a certain amount of sense, he realized. The elders would consider him a good match for the strange old man’s temperament, and sending him away from the village where he would be unable to make trouble must have seemed advantageous as well. But to reveal their intentions in this way, by writing his own fate in a note that he was given to deliver? That showed a lack of courtesy that Ian found unconscionable. He would have to make a big stink out of it when he returned.

So, what of it? The old man placed the note down and looked Ian over, as if he were a hog being sold at market. I can see from your face that this idea is new to you. Do you wish to learn my trade or not?

Ian hesitated. Well, I…

Hmm? Out with it, boy! Tell me what you’re thinking.

I’m sorry. It’s just that…you’re asking me to decide what my entire life will be like in the space of a few seconds! I can’t just say yes or no to that!

Please. Giesling turned his palm down and flicked his fingers in Ian’s direction. Don’t be so dramatic. Have you ever stopped to think that you might have an aptitude for magic?

Ian considered it. He had sometimes wondered what would happen if he became a magician, but in his fantasies the circumstances had been a bit more grand, more heroic; not leading the life of a poor old man in the woods. Even if I do, it still seems wrong, he said. I don’t want my future decided by the elders. How do I even know which school of magic is the best?

None of them are ‘best,’ Ian. Each is simply a different aspect of the same underlying principle.

That’s not what I mean… Ian’s tone had gone from surprised to depressed. It was beginning to dawn on him that he might not have any say in the matter. If I explain to you what my problem is, you’ll probably think I’m crazy.

Giesling stared for a moment, then slid over on his workbench to make room for the young man to sit down. Please, I would love to hear of this madness that has overtaken you. Mental illness is one of the afflictions that can be treated by the magical arts, you know.

Ian ignored the sarcasm and sat. I guess I just always had the idea that I could be different. Everyone in the region takes up some trade when they come of age. The woodsman chops his trees, the tanner makes his leather, the piss pot man carries his piss, and so on. But what does it all mean? Why do all these things need to be done? Each one seems just as pointless as the next.

Pointless? Surely the people who depend on the tradesmen for their goods and services do not think so.

No, no…it’s hard to explain, Ian said. I don’t mean pointless really, just…

"Perhaps the word you’re looking for is arbitrary," Giesling said.

Yes, exactly. Arbitrary. I always thought I could…I don’t know…cut through it. Find out what all of this really means.

If you seek a profession with a deeper meaning, perhaps your calling is as a wanderer for Omim?

No, no. Don’t you see? That choice is no better than any other. Sure, Omim created the world, but why? Why did he put mankind here to serve him? Why the forests, the rivers, oceans, and four schools of magic? Why is there a Decay? What good does devoting my life to spreading Omim’s teachings do if I can’t answer those questions?

The old man leaned back and grinned mildly. I think I understand now why the village wants you to study with me. He stood up and made his way back towards the fire to fetch another bowl of stew from his hanging kettle. But perhaps the decision is more fortuitous than you think. We magicians are closely tied to the forces that underlie this plane, forces set in motion by Omim himself. The four schools were not chosen arbitrarily, you know. The Dracini’s sigil is the dragon, because the dragon’s shape was one of the four created by the embers of Lavenia’s soul as it burnt in the eternal flame of Ser. He pointed at the fireplace with his spoon. "Her divine ashes curled and twisted as they cooled, eventually forming the dragon’s tail, and in a similar way the