Time Frame: The Thomas Knight Chronicles, #3

By Philip Sealey

When an elderly witch finds that people she has known all their lives have been erased from existence, she decides she must investigate. With the assistance of her tabby cat, Frank, she delves into the demon realm and soon discovers that someone has found their way back in time and whether intentionally or not, has changed the future. This temporal intruder can only be the sorcerer Balfour.
The young Guardian of Magic, Thomas Knight, is summoned and without even a cup of nettle tea to keep him going, is sent back over two thousand years to the time of the ancients. He must not only find his old enemy, bring him back to the present and undo the damage he has done to the timeline, but he must also fulfil his destiny as the celebrated hero who saves Iragoth from the greatest evil ever known. With the future of the whole universe at stake, this will be Tom's toughest challenge yet, and he will have to face it without his friends.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wight Publishing
• Release date: May 21, 2021
• ISBN: 9781838409746

Book preview

Time Frame

By

Philip Sealey

Published in 2021 by Wight Publishing

Copyright ©  S.P.Sealey

The author or authors assert their moral right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author or authors of this work.

All Rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, copied, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the copyright holder, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent  purchaser.

ISBN: 978 1838409746

In memory

of

Ken Sealey 1936 - 2018

and

Pam Sealey 1939 – 2019

You were always there for me.

Chapter 1

Trespasser in Time

The awful sound of shouting and blood-curdling screams from outside the thick wooden door greatly troubled the old man. In nearly two thousand years of guarding the fissure, no one had ever come this close.

Not that he had been locked up in this room all alone for two thousand years without going out or seeing people. That would have driven anyone mad. He could teleport out for a few hours to nip down the pub with the boys, and on Fridays, he played the euphonium in the local brass band. Then, of course, there was the astral projection. He could send his spirit off for a night out without his body ever leaving the chamber. He liked visiting friends that way without the risk of suffering awful nettle tea or homemade turnip cake.

Anxiously the bi-millennial chanted a spell that would reinforce the magical protection placed around the chamber to protect the tear in the fabric of time, a rip that had been opened accidentally by a foolish young cleric in his attempt to use dark magic. In doing so, he had been sucked into the hole in time and was never heard from again. But the hole stayed open, drawing in energy and growing in size until the elders of Iragoth managed to close it. But the scar remained. To keep it closed, they constructed a stone frame around it that extended beyond the physical and into the temporal plane. They endowed it with magic that forced the edges of the tear together. But should anyone open the fissure again, it would be confined by the magical frame, preventing it from growing and sucking all of the future into the past. To reduce the risk still further, it was buried under a ridge and given several layers of protection, the last of which was the sentry.

The noise outside the chamber had stopped. That meant one of two things. Either the invaders had been vanquished, or they had triumphed over the enchantments protecting the entrance.

The Ancient continued his chant, satisfying himself that even if the intruders had managed to overcome the obstacles outside, they would never be able to work out how to get through the door. Of course, that was a secret known only to the ancient elders of Iragoth, should they ever need to gain access to the fissure - or if they wanted to bring him a plate of fat rascals, which he was most partial to.

The door swung open.

Blast, said the old man, then continued his chant a bit faster.

Go on, Grimes, said a voice. Get in there.

A short, dishevelled man appeared in the doorway, looking like he really did not want to be there. He looked over his shoulder, then lurched forward as he was pushed from behind, banging into an invisible barrier of mystical energy.

The little man was joined by a taller, thinner man with blond hair and handsome features. He tested the barrier with his hand.

There is a magical field here, he said. There is an old man inside who appears to be casting it.

Step aside, Cox, said another voice. I will deal with this.

Another man appeared in the doorway. Tall, bald, with a small goatee beard and a look of evil in his dark eyes. He took out a wand with a red jewel at its tip and muttered something inaudible. A jet of red light came from the rod and hit the barrier, illuminating the whole thing in an eerie red glow.

At once, the old man could feel the power of his magic begin to fade. The barrier that was using all his strength to maintain was intended to stop anything from getting through. But the intruder wasn’t trying to penetrate the invisible field; he was draining it of its magical energy. It would fail in moments, and the intruder would be inside one of the most dangerous places in the world.

At last, the barrier fell. Evil-Eyes stepped inside, smiling. The horrified old man sent a volley of fireballs from his staff, but they were quickly brushed aside by a wave of the intruder’s wand.

The guardian banged his staff on the ground, and a jet of fire erupted from the floor, swirling in the air between them, eventually taking the shape of a dragon. The fiery beast flew around the chamber and hurtled towards the man standing in the doorway.

"Clipeum," shouted the man.

The fiery dragon flew into an invisible shield in front of the man and dissipated. A stream of blinding white light followed it as the old man bombarded the intruder with everything in his magical arsenal.

Nothing could penetrate the protective field that the bald man had erected around himself. He was a powerful sorcerer - too powerful for the old guardian.

Enough of this, the man barked. "Obliteratum!"

A jet of red light from the wand streaked across the room, hitting the old boy in the chest. The look of shock on his face lasted only a second before his body exploded into a cloud of black dust that hung in the air for a moment, then drifted to the floor.

Now, shall we get on with it? said the man striding into the room. Cox, give me the orb.

The blond man reached into his satchel, brought out a glass ball about the size of a tennis ball, and handed it to the man.

Er, Mister Balfour, sir, said Grimes. If you won’t be needing me anymore, I’ll just go and wait outside.

Grimes, you will remain here and assist Cox, growled the sorcerer.

Yes, sir, answered the little man unhappily.

Balfour approached the stone frame on the far side of the room. It consisted of seven steps leading up to a pair of pillars carved out of the wall. Above the pillars was a plinth, ornately carved with a procession of people wearing different historical costumes, walking towards a doorway that radiated what could be light or energy.

The man took the little glass ball that his faithful assistant had recently stolen from the body of an old witch who had been charged with its protection.

After his plans had been foiled at Winterfest, Balfour escaped through a portal to a strange planet called Earth. In his absence, Cox, his trusty second in command, had continued to follow his master’s instructions, never doubting that Balfour would one day return. Cox and his army of gord searched tirelessly for anything that would lead them to the hiding place of a power so great it could make the person controlling it the master of everything in creation. Cox was unable to find the hiding place, but he did manage to find the old witch whose job it was to protect an orb that controlled a gateway in time. That, he thought, would prove helpful in locating the prize that his master so desperately sought.

"Aperire viam ad secundo quartam partem Arietis togae in senectute," the sorcerer said, inserting the orb into a small hollow in one of the pillars and touching it with the blood-red jewel in his wand.

Instantly the bare wall inside the stone frame became alive with a bright red glow. The wall’s rough stone melted into a swirling maelstrom of currents and eddies of different shades of red light swirling around to the sound of a strong wind.

Are you sure you want to go in there, Master? Cox asked. It looks dangerous.

If I am to find that which I seek, I must go back and see where it was hidden. There is no one alive who knows the secret, said the sorcerer. You must wait here and guard this portal until I return.

We will do as you bid, Master, Cox affirmed.

With that, the sorcerer stepped into the light and disappeared.

Can we eat now? Grimes asked.

Oriculus, the animal trader, was sat in the market square in the small settlement that would one day become the town of Malgoria, sitting in the shadow of the Iragoth Mountain. The sun had just set. The men and women of this tiny little community had settled down in front of a big bonfire to talk about their day and enjoy each other’s company, as was their nightly tradition when the weather allowed.

Oriculus was gazing longingly at a young girl with the most beautiful, long flowing golden hair who sat laughing with her friends on the other side of the fire.

Go over and talk to her, said Lendrix, his friend.

I can’t do that, said the horrified Oriculus. What would I say?

Just say hello and ask her how her day has been.

She’ll just laugh at me and tell me to go jump in the fire, Oriculus said miserably.

I don’t think she will, Lendrix said, grinning.

What have you heard? Oriculus demanded, turning to the young man.

Neris told me that Blondren hasn’t stopped talking about you since you helped her pick up all her firewood when her cart threw a wheel last week.

Neris told you that did she? said Oriculus going red.

Yes. But you better get a move on because I also happen to know that Garickus is very interested in her. He intends to invite her for a walk in the forest at the feast of Illemborn.

But he’s from the warrior caste. I can’t compete with that. I sell chickens.

Better get in there quick then, Lendrix said.

Right. I’m going over there to talk to her now, Oriculus stated resolutely.

Good hunting, Lendrix cheered, slapping his friend on the back.

Oriculus stood up and straightened his coarse woollen tunic. He took two determined paces towards the girl of his dreams and stopped in shock. His and everyone else’s attention had been seized by a bright red light that had suddenly opened in the air about ten feet above the ground. A wind blew up out of nowhere and sent ash from the fire over the frightened people, many of whom ran in fear for their lives.

Oriculus looked from the terrifying tear in the sky to where Blondren was seated a moment ago, but she was gone. He looked around the terrified crowd and saw her running between the little huts towards the forest beyond. A meeting that should have resulted in a very long line of descendants had been averted by this strange phenomenon.

Lendrix grabbed his stunned friend and pulled him away as something dropped from the light, landing on all fours on the ground next to the fire. Slowly, it stood up. It was a man dressed in a strange costume. He looked up at the red gash above him and watched it close as quickly as it had opened. He frowned, wondering how he was going to open it again. Then shrugged and turned to address the two young men cowering behind an empty animal pen.

Could you tell me if this is the age of  Aries?

Chapter 2

Disappearance

The sun beat down on Thomas Knight as he climbed Marsham Hill. His t-shirt clung to him as he fought his way through the sudden feeling of dread that kept the general population of the Berkshire town from venturing any further. Tom knew it was only an illusion, and after a few more steps, the feeling left him as quickly as it had arrived.

The teenage boy followed a path that led around a clump of high bushes and into a clearing. He traipsed through a maze of rope barriers and presented his right hand to a robed figure waiting behind a desk in a three-sided tent. A hood hid the creature’s face, but the hand that brought a rubber stamp down hard on the back of the boy’s hand was withered and grey.

Tom left the tent and proceeded to a barrier, holding out his stamped hand for the squat little armour-clad guard to inspect.

Afternoon, Orvil, he said.

Afternoon, Tom, replied the guard pleasantly, then barked, Are you transporting any illegal magical items?

Not today, Orvil.

Right. On you go then. He opened the barrier for the boy to pass. See you later, nipper.

See you later, Orvil, Tom said, stepping into a circle of shimmering light.

As Tom travelled through the portal, the cool rush of wind was a welcome relief from the heat of the mid-August heatwave. His dad said that it had been the hottest summer since nineteen seventy-six. But there again, he always said that if the sun came out for more than three days in a row.

Seconds later, Tom stepped out of the energy corridor that connected Earth with Lucifria and was instantly drenched.

The rain came down in buckets. The sky was black as night, and now and then, lightning illuminated the enormous mountain that loomed above the ancient monastery in whose courtyard he now stood.

Afternoon, Morton, Tom mumbled to the dwarf waiting at the Lucifrian barrier. He held up his hand for the oilskin-clad guard to see the smudged ink running down his wrist.

Nice on your side, is it? asked the dwarf.

Better than here, Morton, answered the dripping boy.

You ought to have brought a coat,

Yeah, Thanks, Mort. See you. Tom left the smirking dwarf and splashed out through the gatehouse and down the pontoon. A draw bridge led to the bank of the river that ran beneath the monastery and wound its way through the Malgorian countryside. The drawbridge had recently been rebuilt after it was destroyed by a rampaging shadow a few months ago.

The gatehouse that operated the portcullis and the drawbridges leading to each side of the river had been casualties of Balfour and his army of yellow-skinned gord when they attacked the monastery. Fortunately, Tom had been able to keep the sorcerer at bay, forcing him to flee through the portal to Earth, where he had been hiding since the winter.

Tom stomped miserably through the rain as he made his way down the bumpy road that led into the village. The wind was blowing him from one side of the road to the other, and even though the rain was warm, the wind chilled him.

A blinding flash of lightning startled him as it hit an old Sycamore with a deafening clap of thunder and splintering wood. The blast was too much for the trunk of the big old tree, and it gave a loud crack and slowly fell. Tom had to jump out of the way to avoid the big branches as they blocked the road before him.

Tom looked around warily in case any more lightning was about to strike the stricken tree, then climbed through the wet branches, getting scratched by broken twigs as he went. Finally, he made his way through and hurried on into the village.

The soaking-wet boy rushed through the village square. He passed the fountain of the Great Dragon, overflowing with the torrential rain and in through the heavy wooden door of the tavern, almost losing his grip on it as the wind took it.

A cheer went up from the table by the unlit fireplace to the right of the bar.

Blimey, look at the state of that, chuckled a slim black-haired girl with the greenest eyes. What happened to you?

It’s wet out, Tom answered, approaching the table.

We can see that, nipper, said a short, stocky man with massive tattooed arms. But rain don’t cut your arms and legs to ribbons, and you got half a bush stuck in your hair.

Tom pulled twigs and leaves out of his dripping blond hair. Lightning struck a big tree on the Iragoth Road and brought it down. It’s blocked the road. I had to climb through the branches to get here. Scared the life out of me, I can tell you. He took a breath. Hi, everyone.

Around the table were many of Tom’s friends. Garren, the cleric; Lyca, the black-haired werewolf who had greeted his arrival and Dan, the fairy with his tattooed arms. Also seated at the table were Rita, the witch and his friends from Marsham, Jack, with whom Tom spent nearly all his time, and Kelly. Tom had known Kelly since primary school, but only recently discovered she was a witch. The two school friends had managed to get there before the storm had reached its worst.

Why you wet, mate? Jack asked, grinning.

Der! It’s raining.

It was raining when we came. Kelly put up some magical shield thing, and it kept the rain off us. I’d have thought, as you are supposed to be this super magic guy, you could have waved your wand and summon up your own personal micro-climate.

Tom sat and looked at him, annoyed. I didn’t think of that, he said.

Everyone laughed as Rita rose from her seat. Come on, Lovey, she said. Let Aunty get you all dry again. Stand by the fire.

Rita, it’s not lit, Tom argued.

I can see that. Go on, stand there.

Obediently Tom rose and stood by the big old fireplace, and Rita stood a few feet away. She rummaged in her handbag and produced a little cloth bag from which she took a generous pinch of red powder.

"Ventus Calidus," said the witch and threw the powder on the floor at the boy’s feet.

There was a rushing sound as air was sucked along the floor, blowing over chairs and rattling bottles on the shelves as it went. Then, when the bewitched breeze reached the red powder at Tom’s feet, it shot upwards in a warm blast that billowed out his clothes, drying them like he was standing over a giant hand dryer.

After a minute, the magical mistral ceased leaving the chandeliers swinging violently and a flurry of beer mats fluttering to the ground. Though no longer wet, Tom looked decidedly windswept and quite stunned by his sudden airing.

There, said the witch, smiling at a job well done. That’s better, ain’t it.

You look almost exactly like one of my sister’s troll dolls, Jack said, pointing to Tom’s hair which now stood straight up from his head. Everyone burst into laughter.

Rita and Tom returned to their seats as the laughter died, Tom trying unsuccessfully to flatten his wild hair back down.

Is there any news yet? Tom asked, hopefully. It was a question he asked every time he visited this realm, always receiving the same disappointing answer.

I’m afraid not, the cleric sighed. We know Balfour and Cox have a hideout in the mountains from all the gord activity up there, but Mordoc and the warlocks can’t track it down. So there must be some incredibly potent concealment charms hiding it if it can withstand warlock magic.

There was talk of a large company of yellow-skinned creatures heading North on the other side of the mountain, Dan said. But that was over a month ago.

That sounds like the gord, Tom said, remembering the large yellow orc-like creatures with piercing red eyes and the short horn they used to charge at their enemy in a fight. They wouldn’t go far from Balfour unless ordered to. They worship him.

Search parties were sent out to find them, but if they went that way, they covered their tracks well, Dan said.

It wouldn’t be difficult to hide their tracks, said Kelly. Even I can do that.

He must have been with them then, Tom replied. The gord can’t use magic. They’ve barely mastered talking.

"Trouble is, if it was him, he had too much of a head start. The magic would have faded. The warlocks couldn’t pick up