The Ghost Of Dervil: The Journey Begins

By Daniele Pezzano

A young knight is entrusted by the elders of his order with his first mission in the far eastern counties.
A slave prisoner in the Tower of Wizards risks his life to regain his freedom. Two parallel and distant lives are linked by an invisible thread that leads from the distant city of Dervil to the shores of the great Lake Niniel.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Daniele Pezzano
• Release date: Nov 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9791220216241

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PROLOGUE

This book is the first translated part of my first novel IL FANTASMA DI DERVIL. I've decided to split it up in more parts, because the translation process is a long process, and I Hope you'll enjoy it.

I don't want to talk to much in this prologue, that's why I would just invite you to take a look at my facebook page before leaving you to the reading.

https://www.facebook.com/EbooksDanielePezzano

THE WIZARDS' TOWER

Dampness, that slimy humidity that implacably seeps into the bones through any clothing was the first thing perceived when entering the dungeons of the great tower of wizards, the Shannan-dôm, the tower of the mind. Many rumours circulated about The Tower, as the citizens of Therion called it. Someone claimed that some parts were older than the royal palace and that the dank, dark dungeons had been dug by sorcerers, several centuries before the last great war. The Tower featured an octagonal plan and eight metres was the size of each side, reaching a height of almost thirty metres. Ancient magic gave its opalescent stones, though eroded by time, an incomparable smoothness. All around, a ring-shaped inner courtyard of over thirty hectares. Magicians were able to get all the food they needed and even to sell some to the merchants having the permission to pass the northern gate once a week. This little trade allowed them to pay their monthly taxes to the King, an absolute condition for their presence to be tolerated in the city. In fact, the reality they had to deal with on a daily basis was that of being confined inside their own tower: the four entrances were permanently guarded by garrisons of about ten Knights of the Rose. Many city guards took over the outer walls day and night: nothing was to go unnoticed and the magicians were not allowed to leave without the King's permission. Only a few of them knew the tower rose as high up as it rooted deep down: the dungeons had been enlarged over time and were now the size of the courtyard. Many cells were built down there and all were equally cold and bare; one was close to anunderground canal. A frozen grasp all around the body: this was the feeling experienced by those who crossed the threshold of that very room, but those few square meters were the borders of the private world of Brother Xavier, a novice of the cult of Gheltyas.

A PRISONER

Ungainly walls of rough rock and a floor polished by forgotten magic: the dungeons of Shannan-dôm were a place for experiments, keeping alive and studying magical monstrosities, storing amulets and artefacts. The wizards had originally created it as a prison. Brother Xavier and his companions were their slaves, their test subjects. Ironically, the wizards were both prisoners controlled by the king's soldiers and guardians of those with the great disease. Xavier was imprisoned and embraced the nascent cult of Gheltyas like many of his brethren: son of peasants in a village in the western counties, by the age of twelve he had begun to show the unmistakable signs of the Great Sickness, the name magic was called by outside the Order of Wizards. At first he had premonitory dreams, then someone spread the rumour that Georgeus' little son was also able to talk to the dead; at a certain point there was no longer any way to distinguish fact from lies. One day, a platoon of the king's soldiers arrived in Linderford to lead him, according to a law as old as the dynasty itself, to the nearest Wizards' Tower. According to them, Xavier was able to tap into the primary source of magic in an aberrant and dangerous way and, like the monsters generated after the war that had destroyed their power on the continent, he was taken to the dungeons. The Mages of Therion used to exploit the slaves free labour in the fields that were their only material resource. Darkness, loneliness and above all terror marked his first days in the Tower. There were people of all ages down there. Old, young and even children like him welcomed him with kindness, trying to make him feel a little more comfortable in such a traumatic situation. But nothing could replace the memory of his mother's face kissing him goodnight. Every day, after finishing his work and being asked a series of questions about skills over which he had no control, he would throw himself onto the straw mattress, stifling his sobs with a trembling hand until falling into a dreamless sleep. One evening, on his way back to the dormitory, Xavier heard the older prisoners talking in the corridor. They had just returned from their work; the usually quiet voices were so excited he couldn't pretend he hadn't heard anything. There weren't many opportunities to talk in the dungeon, after all. Conversations at mealtimes were forbidden, as was talking without permission during the day. The guardians only allowed a little talking in the evening. Someone said we clerics; this word was unknown to him, but he learned that they claimed to be messengers of a higher being called Gheltyas who, banished from the Andorian centuries before, was preparing his return. They said they must have faith because what they were going