Thorn Castle: The Sorcerer's Tower, #1

By Ian Irvine

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

The orphan Tamly and his best friend Kym are as different as fire and snow. 

Kym has magic coming out of her fingers, and Tamly has none at all. 

When their village is threatened by bad magic this unlikely pair will need to use their combined talents to steal the Book of Spells from the evil sorcerer Lord Harshax.

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 gribbly 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: 9781393405016

Book preview

1

A Spy is Caught

The town was attacked by magic while Tamly was sweeping his great-uncle’s broom workshop. His skin prickled, then the glowglobes on the wall let out needles of white-hot light which set fire to everything they touched.

There were flames everywhere – even Great-uncle Rafe’s stovepipe hat was burning. One of the broom makers ran to the pump and worked the handle furiously, but it coughed up a clot of muck like brown custard, and jammed.

People were shouting and running back and forth.

‘Stop!’ Great-uncle Rafe roared. Running to the water barrel near the door, he thrust his arm out, saying, ‘Deluge, Douse!’

Broom on fire.

His spell fired jets of water from the barrel in all directions and put out the flames, all save one. The last jet of water squirted back at Rafe but, instead of putting out his smoking hat, it shot up his nostrils. He snorted as water dripped from his fleshy nose.

An apprentice sniggered; Great-uncle Rafe silenced him with a glare. The broom workshop was a smouldering mess. He strode to the door, studying the smoke rising all over town and shaking his grizzled head. ‘The attacks are getting worse,’ he said to no one in particular. ‘I don’t know how much longer we can hold out.’

The magical attacks had been going on for weeks and no one knew where they were coming from, but Tamly was afraid. In olden times the land had been laid waste by Shardax, the Black Sorcerer, for a hundred years. What if that evil was rising again?

---

Hours later, Tamly eyed the huge pile of debris from the fire he still had to sweep up, leaned on the handle of his broom, and sighed. It had been good of Great-uncle Rafe to take him in after his parents died, but Rafe believed children should work for their living and Tamly did nothing but sweep all day.

If only I had magic, he thought miserably, for everyone in Meadowhythe could do magic, except him. Then I could save the day the way Great-uncle Rafe had. Why can’t I do magic? Why?

He began to sweep furiously. If the boards of Rafe’s workshop weren’t clean enough to eat off, Tamly would hear all about it.

After sweeping along the left-hand side where the racks of finished brooms were stored, and back down the middle, his nose was running from the straw dust and his burnt broom was falling to pieces. He began to daydream about having a magical broom that would do the sweeping for him.

Unfortunately, Great-uncle Rafe didn’t believe in using magic unnecessarily. He sometimes made flying brooms for customers but never for himself; there were no brooms with hands to carry water from the well; and especially no brooms that did the sweeping. Tamly stopped and leaned on his broom. What was the point in having magic but never using it?

Bang! The workshop door slammed and Rafe was standing there, looking furious. ‘I’m really disappointed in you, Tamly. After the day I’ve had, I thought I could rely on you to help. Get to bed.’

‘But I haven’t had my supper …’

‘Now!’

Tamly scuttled up the ladder to his attic room and huddled on the bed, his empty stomach rumbling. Supper was only a bowl of porridge with a few stringy bits of boiled chicken in it, but it was better than nothing.

---

Tamly jerked upright, for a