The Blood Within the Stone

By T.R. Thompson

A shadow is spreading across the land. Fear will be your downfall.
When the Prefects of Redmondis discover that their quick minds and quicker fingers hide secret potential, young thieves Wilt and Higgs find themselves unwilling recruits. Wilt’s ability to sink into others’ thoughts, knowing what action they will take before they do, is both a prized and dangerous gift.
The Nine Sisters of Redmondis have sensed a growing threat, and search for the one who can control the power of the blood within the stone. But even their sinister plots are nothing compared to the force that controls them.
As Wilt and Higgs rally their newfound weapons, they discover that the threat to their lives, and their reality, is much greater than they realise.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Odyssey Books
• Release date: Jul 22, 2017
• ISBN: 9781922200839

Book preview

1

The boy crouched beside the flames, his face cast in shadow, waiting for the hammer to fall.

Heavy wooden beams ran along the ceiling of the blacksmith’s hut—long fingers hanging above his head, waiting to snatch him into their fist. He watched the burly blacksmith at work, the man’s massive back sweating in the heat of the forge, the muscles in his shoulders bunching and twisting with each powerful swing.

Clang!

The noise was startling. The whooshing, crackling flames, the clatter of metal as the blacksmith held the part-forged sword up to his eyes for study, the hiss of steam as he doused the glowing red blade in the water. Wilt could have shouted and still not have been heard. Despite this, he stepped carefully around the wall of the hut, every sense strained.

It was his first real job, his first real test. Lodan, first lieutenant of the Fingers, the thieves’ guild who ruled the streets of Greystone, had passed it on to him personally. Wilt still held the note in his jerkin, though he knew he should have disposed of it immediately. It was brief and to the point. The blacksmith’s forge. The back room. The third drawer on the right of the desk. The blue blade. The well behind the market. Before midnight. Wilt was expected to look after the details himself.

He slipped into another thick shadow and paused as he spied the door to the back room. It was directly behind the forge, completely exposed in the light of the flames. The blacksmith was working not three feet from it. Any movement he made would be noticed instantly.

Wilt studied the blacksmith and waited. There had to be a way.

Clang!

The job is a test. They don’t give jobs like this as tests unless there is a way to complete it. Try to read him. Know what he will do before he does it.

Wilt settled back onto his haunches and focused on a point just beyond the blacksmith’s back. He slowed his breathing and tried to clear his mind of everything but the sound of the hammer, the strain of muscle, the cut of air as it swung down toward its target.

The hammer struck, and the world disappeared.

The blade would be ready by morning, in time for the duke’s party. Just a few more passes and the steel would be strong, the edge sharp. Little use it would be in the duke’s hands, but one must always take pride in the work itself, not worry about the use to which it will be put. Father had taught that above all else. He would be proud of this blade. Clear the mind and focus on the work. Let the work guide your hands. There. Now back into the water for a final douse.

Wilt was back in the world and moving before the cloud of steam shot up into the blacksmith’s face, momentarily blinding him. Springing forward, he pulled open the door to the back room and slipped inside, all in the time it took for the steam to clear. He stopped at the doorway, the door closed at his back now, and listened. The sounds behind him didn’t change. After a few moments more he finally allowed himself to breathe again.

Wilt studied the room in front of him. It was empty apart from a desk and chairs, a few scrolls and half-forged blades scattered across the desk’s surface. His fingers itched as he scanned the room. So many opportunities for easy profit.

Remember why you’re here. Remember the test.

He took a deep breath and stepped over to examine the third drawer on the desk. It was locked.

It looked a simple tumble lock, nothing that should hold him for more than a few seconds. He pulled out his pick and leaned forward to begin his work, then stopped. No. That is not the way. You are after a prize. This drawer holds that prize. There is something other than this obvious lock protecting what is in this drawer.

Wilt raised his eyes and examined the other drawers in the desk. All had locks. All looked pickable.

He flinched as another clang rang out from the next room.

There was limited time, but he trusted his instincts. His hands moved up to the lock on the second drawer and inserted his pick. Wilt let his fingers move without thought, and in five seconds heard a satisfying click as the lock snapped open. He pulled the drawer out slowly, watching for any further traps, but found none. The drawer held more papers and a small purse, the sight of which gave him pause. There had to be enough in that purse to feed himself and Higgs for weeks.

Wilt pushed the thought from his mind almost as quickly as it appeared. The blacksmith was not his enemy. He would not rob him of anything but the prize he was sent here for.

He pulled the drawer all the way out and looked into the third drawer below it. Sure enough, the lock on that drawer had wires attached, and the timber at the back of the drawer looked thicker than it should be. It was set to do something nasty to whoever opened it.

Inside the drawer was a bundle of oiled rags. Wilt reached in and pulled them out, then unwrapped the blade to be sure of his prize.

There it was. He traced his fingers down the intricately carved blade, and his grey eyes shone blue as the blade lit up, bathing his face in an unearthly glow. Wilt only allowed himself a moment to drink in the sight before quickly re-wrapping it in its coverings. He couldn’t risk the blacksmith noticing any strange lights coming from under the door.

He pushed the second drawer into place and stood. There was something he was missing. It scratched at the back of his mind. Something missing.

The sound of the hammer had stopped.

Wilt acted without further thought, jumping up to grab the roof beam above, then pulling himself up onto it. Just as his feet cleared the air in front of the door, it swung open and the blacksmith stepped in, wiping his sweaty face with a rag. Wilt saw his chance and jumped over the open door to land silently behind the blacksmith, almost stumbling backward into the man as he landed. He caught himself and pushed forward, running for speed rather than stealth now, trusting the noise of the forge to cover him. He sprinted toward the open door of the hut, out into the safety of the darkness, and didn’t look back.

The streets of Greystone were empty and silent, but Wilt ran on, ducking down lanes and cutting up side streets until he was sure there was no one in pursuit. Finally he stopped in a dark alley and leaned against the cold stone to catch his breath. Silence enveloped him, broken only by snippets of late night music and curses from a distant tavern riding on the wind. Wilt looked at the bundle clasped in his hand and a surge of excitement ran through him. He had done it.

What’s more, he had read him. Read the blacksmith’s thoughts and acted on them. He was learning to control it.

The blade felt warm through the rags, and he was tempted to unwrap it to examine it more closely, but stopped himself. No. Finish the task and get home before Higgs wakes up. You can tell him all about it in the morning. Tell him about the reward coming to you, about the hot food they could share from now on. But finish the task first.

The well behind the market. Wilt knew the one the note referred to. It had fallen out of use years ago—something about the water being poisoned—and the town watch had boarded it over. The planks had rotted quickly, however, and the thin timber could easily be pushed aside by those wishing to gain entrance to the darkness below. Wilt had never dared himself, but he’d heard stories. Higgs in particular enjoyed whispering them to him at night. Dark shapes, ghosts perhaps, were rumoured to live down there.

Wilt knew better now. The note had told him to leave the prize there. That meant it must be one of the caches the Fingers used. No wonder they spread rumours to keep prying eyes away.

First you have to get there.

It was late, but not yet midnight. He had time to be cautious.

Wilt stood up straight and turned around to examine the wall he had been leaning against. The standard rough cut grey stones that gave the town its name also gave the agile and daring among its citizens easy access to the night highway above. The town watch patrolled the streets at night, but the Fingers owned the rooftops.

Wilt climbed the wall easily. He’d been scaling walls like these ever since he could remember. The dark streets held many dangers to lone young children, and those who wanted to survive learned quickly enough that safety lay above. Wilt had been one of the lucky ones, and had managed to scrounge a living long enough to reach his teenage years. By now, climbing up out of the darkness was second nature.

He reached the lip of the roof and pulled himself over, then rested on his heels to scan the area.

The well was directly to the east, along the outer edge of the great market square that dominated the centre of Greystone. Just the one break in the rooftops. Not too bad.

Wilt started to walk and let his mind drift. The citizens of the town knew better than to question any strange sounds they heard from the rooftops above. Such questions were discouraged. Even the guards knew not to raise their eyes too often once the sun had set. It was better for everyone if certain—not quite legal—trade was given safe passage in this town. Greystone needed all the business it could get. The Fingers helped ensure some coin still flowed through the town, and most residents were thankful for its existence. They even gave them an official sounding name—the Grey Guild.

The town had perched safely in the lee of the mountains for hundreds of years, growing slowly and steadily as more streets and homes were carved out of the rock. For years it had held its own as a trading post for those passing through the thick forest known as the Tangle. Now though, the highway that once linked the town had found an easier route to the east. Traders no longer felt the need to risk their lives and goods to stop at the Greystone markets.

Greystone was a town slowly dying, being eaten up by the Tangle, the great forest that surrounded it, its ages-old trees twisting and twining around each other to form a thick, impenetrable wall. Impenetrable to all but the bravest—or most foolhardy—of adventurers. Many men and women had disappeared in its shadows, never to be heard from again, and many stories were whispered over low burning fires of the strange creatures that haunted its depths.

Wilt stopped and looked out over a gap in the rooftops to the land beyond the town walls, where the Tangle stood. In the distant past, the Tangle had been seen as something of a boon to Greystone, a natural barrier to raiders and outside threats. As time passed and such threats ceased to appear, and as the flow of trade through Greystone slowed to a trickle, the Tangle loomed as something more. Something to be feared, and cursed. Now it caused all who looked upon it to pause in their step as the slow sway of the trees beckoned to them.

Wilt shivered and turned his mind back to the present as he reached a gap in the rooftops and surveyed the area. It was a six-foot jump from one rooftop to the next, and the roof he was on was two or three feet higher than the one he had to reach. Easy. Wilt took a few steps back and braced to run.

Don’t think about the gap. Don’t think about the fall. Think about speed and flight.

He took a breath and began to sprint. Four steps to the lip. Three, two, one, go!

Wilt jumped from right on the lip and flew through the air, and would have made it, except that halfway across a stone flew out of the darkness and smacked hard into the side of his head.

The rock knocked Wilt out of his jump, and his hands and legs flailed helplessly in the air as he dropped short of the roof’s edge. His momentum was barely enough to carry him to it, and he slammed chest-first into the gutter, the air whooshing out of his lungs. He couldn’t think about trying to breathe yet, though, as he began to slide toward the alley below. His fingers clawed at the smooth slate roof as he slipped, unable to find any purchase to halt his fall. His legs kicked air as he struggled, and for a second he glimpsed the possibility that he wasn’t going to make it, that no matter how hard he tried to stop he was going to fall into darkness and death. Just as he reached the lip, however, a firm hand reached down out of the darkness and gripped his wrist.

‘Not quite as easy as you thought it was, huh, Meat?’

Wilt grasped the arm and felt air struggle back into his lungs as he was pulled up to the safety of the rooftop.

‘You should be more careful which roofs you wander across at night, Meat. Not everyone will be as forgiving.’

Wilt fell on to the roof and looked up at his saviour, still gasping for breath. Red Charley—one of the older thieves, an outcast, and not renowned for his kindness to the members of the Grey Guild. Just what he needed right now.

‘Boys. Let’s see what Meat here has to offer us as thanks for saving his life.’

Rough hands pulled Wilt to his feet and frisked his clothes. In moments the prize was pulled free.

‘Ah now, what do we have here?’

Wilt managed to suck enough air back to wheeze out the words. ‘My prize.’

Red Charley unwrapped the blade and held it up to the moonlight. The strange blue glow of the metal seemed dulled now, but the intricate carvings on the blade still marked it as something special.

‘It certainly is a prize. Yours though? I think not.’

‘No!’ Wilt lunged forward to grab the blade, but was pushed onto his back and given a strong kick to the guts to keep him there.

‘This will do, Meat. Consider it payment for the toll. I’ll make sure it gets to where it needs to go.’

Red Charley grinned then, the red hair that gave him his name glowing grey in the moonlight.

‘I own these rooftops, Meat. Not the Fingers. Me. Next time, consider your path more carefully. Boys.’

Three more kicks sunk into Wilt’s stomach, and he lay alone on the rooftop, gasping for air, long after the thieves had disappeared into the shadows.

‘Wilt? That you?’ the small voice whispered from a huddle of blankets and rags in the corner of the room.

‘Yes, Higgs. It’s me.’ Wilt walked slowly into the room, holding his stomach. His back and chest were aching from the kicks he’d received, but it was his stomach that called for the most attention.

‘You get it?’

‘Yeah. I got it all right.’

Something about the tone of his voice must have given it away, as Higgs threw the blankets back and sat up to watch him as he slowly crossed the room.

‘What happened?’

Wilt lowered himself gingerly to the floor next to Higgs and let out a long breath. ‘Red Charley happened.’

‘He didn’t.’

‘He did.’

‘But the task was given to—’

‘Higgs! That’s enough. I don’t want to talk about it right now. I just want to lie here quietly and suffer.’

Higgs was quiet for all of ten seconds before letting his voice squeak out again. ‘But before Red Charley … did you get it?’

Wilt lay still and stared at the ceiling, trying to relax his muscles, trying to will the pain away. A smile crept across his lips at the memory of his brief triumph. He had done it, managed to focus his strange talent, the one even Higgs didn’t know about. The splash of vision that had taken him at strange times ever since he could remember, dousing him in the thoughts of others. It had answered his call.

‘Yes, Higgs. I got it.’

‘I knew you’d do it.’

He heard Higgs slump back to the ground and let the sound of his breathing carry him into sleep.

2

Higgs had been with Wilt when he was given the task. Higgs was always with him, ever since he’d caught the small boy trying to lift his purse from his belt. He’d felt a familiar tickle, snapped his hand out, and clung on as the little whelp struggled and screamed. Another street rat; Greystone was infested with kids left to fend for themselves, scrounging a living from what little they could steal. He’d pulled his arm back to knock some sense into this one, quieten his screaming, but something had stopped him. Perhaps a memory of his own time scurrying in the streets, thin and desperate and hungry. Always hungry. Or maybe it was the look in the boy’s eyes, the defiant glint that shone out through the caked-on grime.

So he’d fed the kid, helped him find somewhere relatively safe to sleep at night, and suddenly found himself with a shadow, always following him about. He’d protested at first, not wanting anyone to hold him back, mess up his schemes. But on their second night of sharing the same bare room, Higgs had fed them both. He walked in with a crate stacked with meat and bread, destined for the duke’s palace but waylaid halfway down Traders Way and somehow ending up in Higgs’s eager hands. Wilt had eaten his fill for the first time in months, and during the meal Higgs had informed him they were now partners. It was as simple as that.

That was months, perhaps even years ago. It was difficult to keep track of time when you lived hand to mouth, waking each morning wondering whether you’d go to sleep hungry again that night. His test was supposed to put an end to all of that.

Three days prior they’d been down at the riverside, slinging rocks into the river for nothing more than fun. It was their usual hangout on the off hours, when Traders Way was too bare to bother with its pickings, or when they’d had a good score the night before and could afford to spend time just being boys again.

Wilt had a natural affinity with the sling; it was the first and only weapon he’d learned to use. The only one he’d ever felt comfortable wielding. Some of the other thieves had daggers and knives, but Wilt knew better than to carry that sort of hardware. If a guard caught you with one of those, you were sent straight to the dungeons for a week at least, and who knew what you’d look like when you came out. If you ever came out. A sling could quickly become a scarf or a belt when the guards caught up with you.

Of course, if they never caught up with you, that was something else entirely.

He’d been trying to impress Higgs with the advantages of the sling. All he’d needed was a length of cloth, or even better a belt or strap of soft leather. Then whatever he could find for ammunition: rocks in this case, rotten fruit more often than not inside the city walls.

He’d been pleasantly surprised by Higgs’s ability to find good slinging stones, but when it came to being able to wield the sling itself, Higgs was taking some time to learn the basics.

‘Argh!’ Higgs screamed in frustration as his third stone went flying straight up into the sky.

Wilt kept his eye on it as it arced above them. The last two had landed a little too close for comfort. ‘You’re loosing them too late.’

Higgs muttered something under his breath and bent down to grab another perfect stone.

‘What was that?’

‘Nothing.’ Higgs spun his sling quickly and loosed his stone, this one splashing straight down into the water at his feet.

‘Too early.’

‘Thanks, genius, I hadn’t noticed.’

‘Don’t get angry with me. Just focus on what you’re doing. You’ll get it eventually.’

Higgs muttered some more insults under his breath and bent down for another stone.

Wilt smiled to himself and gazed out over the river, toward the far bank where the Tangle waited, its green depths silently swaying. Beckoning to him. A shiver ran up his spine as he stared into it. The Tangle. Wild and unknown. Growing ever closer to the walls each year, waiting to consume the city.

Another splash, this time a few metres out into the river, pulled his thoughts away and told him Higgs was beginning to find his range.

‘Better.’

He turned away from the river and looked up at the high walls behind them. Guards patrolled the ramparts, their attentions focused in rather than out. In a strange way they knew the Tangle provided more protection than they ever could. Nothing was coming from out there; at least, nothing they could ever be expected to guard against.

Another splash, far out in the centre of the river, grabbed his attention again.

‘That’s great, Higgs. Almost as far as mine.’

‘Almost?’ A new voice answered, its tone tinged with amusement.

Wilt spun around and stood quickly as he saw Lodan standing next to Higgs, the sling dangling from his hands.

Wilt stumbled over his words. ‘I— I mean.’

‘Come then, show me your skill.’ Lodan held the sling out, a grin twisted on his face. Behind him, Higgs was bent over, trying to mask his laughter.

‘I didn’t—’

‘Come.’ Lodan cut him off gently but in a tone that brooked no argument. Lodan was known to all the thieves in Greystone, and most of the regular folk as well. He was a tall, dark-haired man, gentle of face but with a coldness in his eyes that spoke of years spent in the shadows. He was the public face of the Grey Guild, the closest anyone ever got to the guild’s mysterious leader, a figure known only as the Hand.

Wilt scuttled over the river rocks to where Lodan and Higgs stood and grasped the offered sling.

‘Let’s see how far you can sling it then, boy.’ Lodan’s face was serious, but there was a twinkle in his eyes as he watched Wilt pick up a rock and begin to spin the sling up to speed.

With a grunt, Wilt snapped the sling loose. At the last second he flicked his wrist, sending every last ounce of force from the sling to the rock. It flew out over the river, arcing high in the air and easily clearing the distance Lodan’s rock had gone.

‘Told you.’ Higgs’s voice was quiet and sure, with a hint of a grin in his words.

Wilt turned back to Lodan, who was still staring at where the rock had disappeared into the river.

‘Huh.’ He turned back to look at Wilt appraisingly. ‘Not bad at all.’

‘That’s nothing, you should see his aim. He can—’

‘That’s enough, Higgs,’ Wilt interrupted, his cheeks beginning to flush red.

‘He can what?’ Lodan’s voice was calm and deep, and he seemed genuinely interested.

‘If you throw a rock out there, he can hit it before it lands,’ Higgs blurted before Wilt could stop him.

‘Can he now? I think I’d like to see that.’ Lodan bent over to grab a rock.

‘Higgs is just boasting, I’m not that—’

Lodan silenced him with a look and bounced the stone in his hand. ‘Show me.’

Wilt didn’t argue; he simply reached down to grab a rock of his own and started to spin the sling.

‘Tell me when,’ Lodan said, his arm cocked and ready.

Wilt began to spin his sling. ‘Whenever you’re ready.’

Wilt heard his own quiet tone as though he was listening to someone else. The world seemed to have shut down, all outside noise and movement slowing into a low murmur beneath him. All that he was aware of was the sling moving in his hand, his senses stretched and waiting.

Then there was something more. It was as though he could feel the green of the Tangle waiting for him to act, the breath of the trees held in the silence of the moment, holding the world still for him.

Suddenly Lodan drew back and threw his stone high out over the river. Wilt watched it move in slow motion, its arc clear. It was almost like he read it; no thoughts—stones couldn’t have thoughts, could they?—but the action itself. As though each movement was preordained and therefore obvious. All he had to do was play his part.

For a long moment he waited, enjoying the sense of the world around him slowing, the universe pausing for him, only him—a taut drum waiting to be struck.

He loosed his stone with another low grunt and the world sped back into life. The sounds of the river, the birds high above and the wind in the trees where the Tangle waited—it all came back in a rush as his rock speared toward the one Lodan had thrown. It met the other with a crack and shattered it in mid-air, bits of rock showering down into the river.

Higgs let out a yell of triumph and jumped in the air. Wilt studied the ripples in the water where the rocks had landed, a strange calm having settled around his shoulders. Eventually he turned back to see Lodan studying him.

Wilt shrugged and dropped his head, embarrassed.

‘Great shot,’ Lodan said, holding his hand out to clasp Wilt by the shoulder. ‘You may be just the one we’re looking for.’

The gathering was in a large disused warehouse situated between the markets and the south gate of the town. In happier times, merchants would travel along the Traders Way, the main street that ran from one end of Greystone to the other, stopping off at the markets in the centre of town to buy and sell their goods. And if a few barrel-loads of ale, or a chest or two of cloth, or even a stray wagon of grain were to go missing on the short trek from the gate to the market, well, a smart merchant knew this was the price to pay for the privilege of trading in a place like Greystone. Merchants who weren’t smart, who raised a hue and cry over their missing goods, soon learned the error of their ways. They were bustled straight to the southern gate guardhouse to make a formal complaint. Only once they had left the town altogether did they realise that what had been one missing chest was now five. Any wagons they still had with them were decidedly lighter than they were before.

Now that the times had turned and traffic along the Traders Way had slowed, the Grey Guild too had shrunk in size, their shadows dwarfed in the vastness of the warehouse space they met in. They could also afford to be picky when it came to prospective new members, and so they had come up with the tasks.

Anyone who wanted to join the Grey Guild could, but first they would be tested. In a town the size of Greystone, everyone knew everyone else anyway, so one’s reputation and skills were generally common knowledge by the time they presented to the Fingers as a prospective recruit. This knowledge in turn helped the Grey Guild leaders shape each individual challenge to suit. The tasks were designed to push each thief to the limit, and many had failed to complete theirs. As times got harder and the need for new thieves lessened, the tasks had become harder still.

In fact, no one had been successful in completing their given task in well over a year, since Lodan had come to the fore and introduced harsher restrictions. Word was that the last person to try—and fail—had been Red Charley.

Now it was Wilt’s turn, and it looked like he too had failed.

Wilt stood in the vast warehouse and gazed up at the cracked beams and broken windows that lined the high walls, letting a little light from the grey sky seep into the warehouse. A circle of torches lit the middle of the room where he stood, and the flames marked out various shadows that stood just outside his view. The Fingers. Wilt knew many more faces studied him than he could make out in the dullness.

‘Wilt. You stand before us, yet you have delivered no prize. Explain yourself.’ The voice was Lodan’s, and Wilt recognised the tall silhouette standing to his side.

Wilt stood mute before them and held out his empty hands. ‘I cannot. I—’

‘I can.’

A new voice, all too familiar to Wilt, called out confidently. Red Charley stepped forward into the light, the bundle of rags held triumphantly before him.

‘I knew about your little test for this boy. He did not have the necessary skills to complete it. I did.’ Red Charley unwrapped the bundle and held up the small dagger, grey now in this light.

Lodan’s shadow inclined its head. ‘Is this true, Wilt?’

Red Charley interrupted before Wilt could answer, his voice louder now. ‘I hold the evidence in my hand!’ He raised the dagger higher still and stepped forward, his voice dropping in a low threat. ‘I challenge any who doubt me to speak now.’

Wilt remained mute. Red Charley glared at him, daring him to speak. The silence stretched as Wilt’s mouth moved, but no sound came from his lips.

‘I thought not.’ Red Charley smiled, and turned to the shadows.

‘I challenge.’ Wilt only whispered the words, but they rang out in the silence of the great hall.

‘What?’ Red Charley wheeled around and pointed the dagger at Wilt’s chest.

‘I challenge,’ Wilt repeated, more confidently now, staring into Red Charley’s eyes.

‘As you should, boy. As you should.’

The new voice boomed from the front of the hall and the room fell silent as a large round figure made its way toward them. Finally it entered the circle of light, and Wilt froze as he recognised the face of the blacksmith he had stolen the dagger from.

The blacksmith held out one enormous hand and clapped Wilt on the shoulder, almost knocking him over. ‘After all, you stole it fair and square.’

Lodan’s voice rang out in the silence. ‘Remove this charlatan.’

A scuffle broke out as rough hands seized Red Charley and threw him to the ground. The dagger was jerked from his hands and a gloved hand cuffed

Reviews for The Blood Within the Stone

[deedee1501 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I received this book from LibraryThing as an early readers edition. I really enjoyed this book and thought it was written well especially for a first book. There was a lot going on in this book, but it was not overwhelming. I really liked that the author did not make you wait too long to explain what was going on.The reason I did not give this 5 stars, I would have given 4.5 but that is not an option, is because I felt the ending was too easy. I felt that issues were resolved much more simply than I would have guessed, but it may just have been due to how very powerful our main character is.This was a great first book from the author, fast paced, will definitely keep the reader interested throughout. I had a hard time putting it down. I will definitely be reading the rest of the books in the series and wish the second book was out already as I don't want to wait.

[jeffv_19 · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

I do appreciate that the author attempted to be somewhat unique in defining his fantasy world, I just wish he did a better job of it. The main character is established as a master thief, then becomes a mentalist of sorts, then a master psychic wizard. Why? Well, because. The characters are rather poorly developed, and none are particularly sympathetic. The rules, never firmly established, seem to change on a whim. Character reaction to mass carnage is simply not believable. To top it off, this is the first in a series titled "The Wraith Cycle" - yet there was no defined wraiths in the story. Where it goes here I can't imagine...nor can I care. The author needs to work on character development , develop parameters for his fantasy world, and then ensure everything occurs within those parameters. Otherwise, the result is mostly nonsense.