Wizardry Crag: The Sorcerer's Tower, #4

By Ian Irvine

Over a million copies of Ian Irvine's fantasy novels sold.

Tamly's Birth Foretelling said he would be a danger to magic, and it seems to be true. 

The sorcerer brothers Harshax and Krushax are hunting him down – but for what terrible purpose? 

It will take all Tamly's courage to face his enemies and thwart their evil plan.

Fantastically illustrated by DM Cornish.

Reviews and Honours for The Sorcerer's Tower

Shortlisted for the 2008 Aurealis Award, Best Children's Series

"A new series by two of Australia's best. It has all the things that turn reluctant readers into avaricious readers – fast moving plot, big gribble monsters and really cool illustrations." Reading Time

"A thrilling bedtime chapter book for parents to read to children five years and older." The Courier Mail on Thorn Castle

"Fast moving fantasy adventure, brought to life by Cornish's distinctive illustrations." Good Reading

"A fast-paced, easy reading book for middle primary school." The Ballarat Courier

"This exciting story is likely to appeal to young readers who like their adventures action-packed, but also to slightly older, reluctant readers."Sunday Tasmanian

"Children as young as six will enjoy this fast paced novel. Non-stop fantasy action with humour and colourful detail." The Courier Mail on Black Crypt

"Beautifully crafted with magic, excitement, surprises, chases and fights all the way." Aurealis

"From one of Australia's masters of fantasy, this action-packed series is a wonderful introduction to the genre for readers aged nine and over. Perfect for the reluctant or younger reader." Aussiereviews.com

• Language: English
• Publisher: Santhenar Press
• Release date: May 29, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393296997

Book preview

1

Abducted by Sorcerers

It was late on a freezing winter’s night and snow lay a foot thick on the ground. Every light in the little town of Meadowhythe was out, save one. In an attic room high above Rafe’s broom workshop a single candle burned.

In the room a boy of eleven paced back and forth, moving his hands in the air as he recited. He was slight but wiry, and his dark hair stuck out in all directions, save for a single white lock that hung over his forehead.

Two watchers, floating in the air some distance from the broom workshop, focussed their night glasses and exchanged grim smiles.

The watchers.

‘Tamly never gives up, does he?’ said a chubby, gnomish man, a sorcerer called Lord Harshax. ‘He’s determined to get back his lost magic.’

‘He never will,’ said his black-bearded brother, Lord Krushax. ‘His parents took it from him when he was a baby, because Tamly’s Birth Foretelling said he would be a great danger to magic. But the fools mucked up the spell and it killed them.’

‘And Tamly’s magic was lost forever.’ Harshax rubbed his plump hands together and chuckled. ‘He’s just what we need to raise the Tower of Sorcery again – the one kid in the land with no magic.’

---

Tamly was so tired that he could barely keep his eyes open, but he had to keep going. In the months since coming back from the Black Crypt he’d read books on magic until his eyes hurt. He’d practised spells until his voice went hoarse, and everyone in Meadowhythe had tried to help him, yet they had all failed.

‘I will get it back,’ he kept saying. ‘I must!’

Not tonight, though; he could do no more. Closing his spell books, he brushed his teeth, put his nightshirt on and combed his hair. It shot up at once, which was a bad sign. For the past hour he’d had the creepy feeling that someone was using strong magic nearby, though there was no way of telling who it was. Not without magic of his own.

Tamly warmed his hands over the candle flame, blew it out and slipped into bed. He had just closed his eyes when a whistling sound made him look out of his window. It was a clear night, and snow lay thickly on the leafless branches of the great fig tree, but he couldn’t see anything. Must be the wind, he thought sleepily. Tamly closed his eyes.

CRASH!

The whole building shook; splinters and glass flew everywhere. Tamly shot up in bed, thinking that a branch had fallen on the roof. No – there was something in his room, something huge, though it was too dark to see what it was. He was so afraid, he could hardly breathe.

‘What the blazes was that?’ yelled Great-uncle Rafe, from below. ‘Tamly, are you all right?’

He wasn’t game to answer, in case whatever was in his room heard him.

‘Light, dammit!’ said a voice that sent shivers down Tamly’s back.