ProphecyQuest

By Bill Pottle

How could it be possible to bring the shapeshifter Yan back from the dimension of used magic?
Who is the mysterious dark elf who attacks Yvonne, and what is her secret?
What is the 'ultimate power' and who is the man who wields it?
An ancient prophecy ties it all together. The Cloudwalker appears, and the time to pass through the Wall of Glass is near. But the prophecy says only One may enter...

Editorial Reviews:

"Bill Pottle has learned a lot of about writing lately. I really enjoyed DreamQuest, and ProphecyQuest is so much stronger." - Jeri Kladder, 2007 Newbery Medal Committee Chair

"A truly exciting high fantasy adventure" - Midwest Book Review

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bill Pottle
• Release date: Oct 26, 2013
• ISBN: 9781311087058

Bill Pottle

Bill lives happily ever after with his wife and children

Book preview

PROPHECYQUEST

Bill Pottle

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Bill Pottle

Discover other titles by Bill Pottle at www.billpottle.com

Copyright © 2005/2013 William Pottle

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

ProphecyQuest

By Bill Pottle

For my mother, who always believed in me.

Acknowledgments

The number of people I have to thank for helping with this work is immense. First of all, I want to thank all the fans of DreamQuest whose support (and gentle prodding!) helped to get this story finished in a little over two years. I would also like to thank Connie Pottle, Jerry Kladder, and Robert Kidd for their excellent editorial work. Jason Charles, Katie Hoffman, See Yang, and Evan Delahanty all deserve thanks for helpful edits and suggestions. Charles DeGuzman provided an excellent cover as always.

Prologue

The late afternoon sun beat down on his pale skin as he sat facing the ocean. He took another sip of his cold tea, relaxed, and let the energy from the sun soak into his skin, heating it until a cool breeze came in from the ocean to relieve him. Artholeus was not usually one to spend much time outside. It wasn’t that he disliked the outdoors as some of his colleagues did. Rather, he was just too devoted to his work to allow himself free time for anything. On days like this, however, he just had to make an exception. It was the first really warm day of spring, and although winter was never very bad in Deguz, this year had been one of the worst in recent memory. Perhaps part of it was that Artholeus was getting older, but lately he had begun to look forward to the coming warmth of summer with the longing of a man who begins to realize that the summers he has already seen far outnumber the ones he has left.

He was a scholar in every sense of the word. Since his days as a boy, he had always been fascinated by knowledge that was new. It wasn’t so much that he was interested in a particular subject, but rather that he just wanted to learn something that no one else knew. He had started experimenting then, building various contraptions that did a great many things, a few of them even useful. He swam out into the ocean, trying to find new creatures that other humans had not discovered. He even searched for new plants, and tried to see what they could be used for. This passion consumed him well into his thirties, which prevented him from ever marrying and starting a family. He didn’t have any regrets—for the most part. Sometimes, on days like this, he wondered what his life would have been like if he had taken a different path.

When he reached his mid thirties, he had realized the futility of trying to learn everything by himself. Sometimes, he would even work for months on a principle just to find that someone else had already discovered it. After a brief period of despair numbed with alcohol, he had found the library. Well, he had always known where it was. In fact, the house where he was born was right across the street. But in those days, the run-down library was only a place for ancient texts. For Artholeus, it was all old information, and old information was barely better than no information at all. Yet, he had a vision to transform the library, and soon he set about his task. He kept the old texts, but reorganized them and set up rooms for meetings and experimentation. Each day there would be a different topic of discussion, and soon many learned people were coming to discuss various issues. Putting their minds together gave a tremendous problem-solving advantage, and Artholeus had a scribe record the meetings. Soon, correspondence began coming in from around the world. Other people were either sending in their thoughts or asking for transcripts of the meetings.

Over the years, the library had grown in size and importance. It had outgrown its old building, and a new gargantuan structure had been built for it, even as the streets remained unpaved and guards made do with older, chipped weapons. Deguz was a city of learning more than fighting. Artholeus had risen to become the director. Looking back, he realized how foolish he had been in his youth. The true power of human innovation was not in the truths that one solitary man could decipher, but in the linkage of the ideas of thousands of men.

Artholeus’s eyelids began to fall downwards even as the sun began to slip below the eastern horizon. He started as he realized that he had been outside longer than he had originally planned, leaving work undone. He still had to reorganize some of the newly returned ancient texts. He got up from his chair, drank the rest of his tea in one gulp, and began to walk briskly back to his study.

His study was comfortable and neatly arranged. He sat in a padded chair opposite the door. His chair faced away from the solitary window, a circular offering half a meter in diameter and quartered by an oaken cross. This allowed daylight to spill onto his massive oak desk, whose large surface allowed Artholeus to spread out maps and scrolls without damaging them. The other sides of the room held small rows of bookcases, a vestige of Artholeus’s earlier desire to be the first to obtain new information. Whenever anyone submitted a new piece to the library, Artholeus kept it in his room until he had a chance to personally review its contents and decide where it best fit into the current collection. The only other public works in his study were the ancient manuscripts. People were allowed to open and peruse them, but were required to sign them out. Artholeus then would look them over afterwards to make sure there was no damage before he placed them back in the vault.

Artholeus pushed his spectacles up the bridge of his nose and started reviewing. Most of the ancient texts were surprisingly boring. People naturally thought that just because something was ancient it must be sacred, and just because it was sacred it must be interesting. Yet, in ancient times people still milked stubborn cows, bought feed for their chickens, dug outhouses, and paid taxes. All of these activities had been documented for hundreds of years, and the records were usually checked out by scholars looking for historical trends to corroborate their personal theories on life. Most ancient prophesies turned out to be no more profound than:

I bet one hundred copper pieces that Sir William the Handsome will trounce Sir Cai the Uncoordinated in next week’s duel.

They were usually right, and fulfilled in short order. However, every once in a while Artholeus would come upon a real prophecy, a cryptic message bearing hints about how the future of the world would hinge on a series of seemingly unrelated and unimportant events. The text that he was now reading was one of those. It was more than one and a half thousand years old, written by a wandering prophet by the name of Isyeah. Artholeus glanced over at the log to see who had borrowed it. Oddly enough, there was no entry for this particular text. The scholar frowned as he flipped through the pages of the logbook, checking again.

Perhaps it had been signed out on the wrong page.

Artholeus read all of the entries for the last three months. Still there was nothing. He went back to examine the scroll once again. It was yellowed from years of use and written in a discarded tongue. It definitely appeared authentic, and could have only come from the reserved section. There was a guard who stood watch over the library’s most prized texts, and he should not have let this one out without accounting for it. The important thing was that the scroll was safe again. Artholeus glanced down at the open part of the scroll to see what the library patron had been reading. The prophecy stared up at him:

When the powers of life shall be implored

For he that was lost to be restored

Water forged into a gate stronger than steel

To open the way, but One may reveal

A child born, three swords he must wield

With the elemental power he will banish the dark

From this you may know him, for he bears no mark.

***********************

Make way, make way! The young man was having absolutely no luck. People milled about just as before, chattering away as if they had not heard him. He was getting frustrated. The people of Breswick had no manners. This called for drastic measures. Foren grabbed his trumpet and blew a loud blast until he was nearly out of breath. Everyone abruptly stopped talking in the courtyard. Foren almost seemed surprised by their attention, but quickly regained his composure, cleared his throat, and began to speak.

Ahem…. Hear ye, hear ye, make way for His Excellency, Guardian of the Duchy of Breswick, Protector General of the Duke, Third Deputy Magician of the West, Keeper of the Power of Fire, Ambassador to the Merfolk, and Earl of the North, Tarthur of Krendon! Foren’s introduction was met with loud applause as the people hurriedly stepped aside to open the way.

Would you stop that? I told you that I don’t need an introduction to walk down the street. Tarthur was obviously annoyed. Duke Adolphus had assigned this idiot to him a week ago when Tarthur arrived for his visit. Now, he couldn’t even go to the bathroom without hearing his life story described to everyone in the vicinity.

Tarthur softened somewhat as he saw the crestfallen look in Foren’s eyes. The young man was just trying to do his job. He was anxious and nervous, and he honestly looked scared that Tarthur would devour him if he left out one of his titles. Tarthur shook his head. The last five years had gotten him closer to understanding court life and politics, but he hadn’t come any closer to liking it. At times like these, he was glad that he had chosen to make his home in Krendon, although he traveled extensively. He took a deep breath and tried to console his guide. It’s okay. Let’s just forget about this and head back to the castle.

Are you sure that is wise, my lord? Foren spoke gingerly, sinking backward in case he was unfortunate enough to incur Tarthur’s wrath once more. The duke had given him explicit orders not to let Tarthur return until the end of the day. The doctors had been complaining that they could barely do their work.

I don’t care what they said, Tarthur responded. I promise to stay out of the way. Perhaps we could just watch from the balcony… He had been easily irritated ever since he arrived in Breswick. He had come for his yearly visit to pay homage to the duke, but the real reason that he had come at this time was that Yvonne was having trouble with her pregnancy. It had not been an easy pregnancy throughout, and now that she was set to deliver any day, Tarthur wanted her to be in a larger city with good doctors. Knowing his mother had died giving birth to him made Tarthur even more worried that something would happen to his beloved. When he was in the room with her, he constantly paced up and down, always asking Yvonne if he could cast any spells that would help her. She invariably replied, No, saying she could handle all of the pain and more, and that Tarthur was insulting her by implying that she couldn’t. She would then grimace again, at which point Tarthur would turn away and hurriedly mumble a covert spell to help her relax and to lower her sensitivity. She would then feel at ease for a moment, tell Tarthur that the pain wasn’t really that bad anymore, chastise him for his foolishness in assuming it was too much for her, thank him for his concern, and then slip into a restless slumber. Tarthur would continue his pacing, and the ordeal would repeat when she awoke. The doctors became irritated and had to ask Tarthur to leave, at least for a little while.

He wished that Derlin were there. His friend would be able to help him relax. They had been through so much together, and somehow they always managed to come out alive, and relatively unscathed. It certainly seemed much longer than five years since they had set off on a quest to understand Tarthur’s dream. In the dream, he had killed the Death Lord Darhyn and regained the spell that controlled the awesome power of the Water Orb. Tarthur had transferred the spell from the Death Lord’s fortress to a scroll lying beside his bed. After Tarthur unwittingly destroyed the only copy of the scroll in the Death Lord’s possession, Darhyn had tried to draw Tarthur and the scroll back to him. The entire world had been caught up in war, and Tarthur and Derlin had journeyed across the land, meeting friend and foe alike. In the end, they had defeated Darhyn and banished him from the world. The cost in human life had been staggering, and many valiant people perished.

After the war, Derlin returned to Krendon with Tarthur for a few months and then spent a few more months traveling the world and helping the people to rebuild. No area had been more affected by the war than the northeast section of the elven forest. Yet, the elves were quick to rebuild. By spring, the old dead trees had been cleared away, and new saplings were already starting to grow in their place. It was here that Derlin met Valena, and each saw the heartache burning deeply in the other’s eyes. Neither spoke with words that entire day as they worked to steady the new saplings and rebuild the forest. The first words they spoke to each other were at their marriage the next day. Valena’s brother, King Dalin, presided over the ceremony. In the spring that followed, they often returned to nurture the small trees, even as Valena nurtured the life within her.

Tarthur had at first been surprised and hurt that Derlin did not wait for him to be present at the wedding. Over time, he had forgiven his friend, and Tarthur had traveled to Breshen to be present when Derlin’s daughter Lily was born.

Tarthur and Yvonne had lived their own lives for two more years before deciding to bind their souls together, and Derlin came to the ceremony in Tealsburg. It was one of the larger weddings that the country had seen for some time. They were celebrities—he was the man who had risen from humble beginnings to become, if only for an instant, the most powerful being on the face of the earth. She was the street girl who had come from rags to dazzling beauty—and no matter how powerful Tarthur became, she still controlled his heart. The wedding gave great hope to the ordinary people of Daranor, and in the months leading up to the ceremony it seemed as if no one wanted to talk about anything else.

So the day had come and gone and then the people forgot about it and went back to their daily lives. Yvonne had parted with her twin sister and returned to Krendon with Tarthur.

Tarthur knew that the wedding hit Yvette hardest. She had a hard time sharing Yvonne with anyone. Each had been the only family that the other had. Plus, there was an abundance of jobs immediately following the conflict with the Death Lord. Workers were needed to replace those that had lost their lives or their ability to work in the war. Reconstruction of the damaged towns and villages required many more workers. Since everyone could now find gainful employment, the Guild of Thieves was disbanded. Yvette had taken a job as a seamstress, but it didn’t suit her and she soon quit out of frustration. She used all of her abilities and spare money to make a beautiful wedding gown as a gift to her sister. Making the dress was a bittersweet process. She wanted Yvonne to be happy, yet she couldn’t shake the feeling that half of her being was being ripped away from her and given to someone else. She did like Tarthur, even admired him. Yet at the same time, she felt betrayed by him. Living all of her life as a master thief, she now knew what it felt like to have your most precious possession stolen away. After Yvonne left, she had drifted between jobs, never staying longer than a few months, always supplementing her income at the expense of her place of business. She felt guilty taking money from honest people, yet she couldn’t stop. It was an addiction for her. Soon, she stumbled onto another addiction—alcohol. Yvonne was not around to see her sister sink into the depths of despair, and if she felt her pain, she didn’t do anything about it from Krendon.

So it was that Yvette found herself lying in an alleyway one day, not sure how she had gotten there. A figure stepped out of the darkness and silently moved towards her. Half man, half elf, he had spoken to Yvette and offered her a new job, a way for her to once again make a difference. She had gone with him, and slowly regained her life back.

At least, that was the way Tarthur had heard it. The truth was, neither he nor Yvonne knew exactly what Yvette was really up to, and she had refused to tell him, saying only that she had taken up a position in King Garkin’s army.

A tap on his shoulder caused him to whirl and glance at the figure behind him. Once he recognized him, Tarthur jumped on Derlin and gave him a big hug. You made it! Tarthur cried with relief in his voice. Valena was probably back home in Breshen with Lily. She was still too young for strenuous journeys. Derlin’s dark hair hung down over his forehead, matching well with his green and brown elven traveling clothes. He stood there with a grin that lit up his hazel eyes.

What are you smiling about? Tarthur was a little edgy, and Derlin’s look was beginning to unnerve him. Why don’t you see for yourself, Derlin said, gesturing in the direction of Yvonne’s bedchamber.

Tarthur looked at him curiously for a second, and then began to walk towards Yvonne, slowly at first, then quickening until he finally broke into a full sprint. He was panting by the time he burst into the room. Derlin followed closely behind him.

Yvonne sat upright in the bed, looking flushed but beaming. Yvette was sitting next to her, holding a tiny bundle wrapped in new linen. They both smiled as Tarthur entered, and Yvette held out the bundle to Tarthur.

As Tarthur looked down at his son, his emotions overwhelmed him. The boy reached up and grasped his entire hand around Tarthur’s pinky finger. His grip was so strong for someone so little, almost as if the baby thought he must hang on for dear life. The baby looked so perfect, as flawless as a new winter’s snow. Tarthur could not believe that he had had a part in creating this new life. He turned to face his wife.

You know, of all the magic I’ve ever done…this is the best. Yvonne seemed exhausted, but defiant. She didn’t say anything, just smiled.

Finally she spoke. So we shall call him Alahim. It was the name that they had agreed upon earlier. Alahim wasn’t actually a name, but it was a word in the ancient tongue of wizards that meant ‘shapeshifter.’ Tarthur was naming his son after Yan, a wizard who had been imprisoned by Queen Marhyn at the end of a great war, three hundred years earlier. His friends had all thought he was dead, and ceased to search for him. He had rotted in Marhyn’s prison, time eating away at his consciousness. Tarthur had stumbled upon the senile old man while attempting to escape the Dark Queen, and gradually Yan began to understand who he was. He had abruptly left Tarthur and Derlin to head to a meeting of the Council of Gurus, a group of the most powerful beings in Daranor. They had refused substantial aid in the battle against the Death Lord, yet they had empowered Yan as alahim, or shapeshifter.

In the final