The Saberlight Chronicles

By Matthew Corry

Music fans know the name Fellowship: the English band whose 2022 debut took the heavy metal world by storm. The message in their music resonates with cozy fantasy fans: “Taking on the subject of mental health at a time in our lives where we all need a pick-me-up, the album tells a mythical story of self-worth, self-discovery and the quest for courage, all through songs so catchy you’ll be singing along on the very first listen.”

But The Saberlight Chronicles isn’t just a hit album—it’s a book. Learn the story behind the songs as you join Atlas on his journey to unlock the secrets of the enchanted sword Saberlight and save his home from the dark magic of the Tiseran Empire. But all is not as it seems in the land of Braegen, where spirit is stronger than steel, and even bitter enemies hide secrets deep in their hearts...

Wyngraf is proud to publish a brand-new edition of Fellowship singer Matthew Corry's high fantasy novella, featuring an original cover painting by Matthew Spencer and fully illustrated throughout by Cat Jacobelli.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wyngraf
• Release date: Nov 3, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215524138

Book preview

PROLOGUE: THE FELLOWSHIP AND THE FIRE

Surrounded at the back of a wispy old tavern by a drunken, slightly annoyed mob, the long-time friends Calvedar Tuffley, Bard Widely, Elyon Amethyst and Absalus Huck were in a sticky situation—and not just because of the ale-drenched floor. As the fellows gulped down their apprehension, they couldn’t help but wonder how they’d ended up in this mess.

The air about them was thick and boozy, and between the sweat of the tavern’s customers and the beer-burped fumes in the air, the whole place was intoxicating in the way that only a packed village pub could be. The woodrot beams above their heads were almost as saturated with alcohol as the men and women surrounding them, arching above the brass-and-oak bartop that formed the centre of the room.

All in all, it felt like a rather dingy place to die.

They had been caught trying to steal a barrel of wine, but they weren’t technically thieves. The night before, a grumpy-looking tavernkeeper had asked them to tell some stories at the inn across town while they’d been passing through. They’d accepted. Gigs were hard come by, these days, and they’d been going to bed hungry all week.

But after a rousing show, the tavernkeeper had refused to pay them. They found out from quizzing the locals that that same landlord owned a second, better-stocked establishment, farther out from town, so that was where they had gone. They were simply taking what they had been promised.

Of course, they knew instinctively that their attempts at explaining this to a mob would likely go just as badly as the theft itself.

Earlier in the day, Absalus had come up with the harebrained scheme of simply walking in through the front door, during the busiest time of day, and walking out with a ham and keg. Hide in plain sight! he’d said. If we do it with confidence, they’ll never even bat an eyelid!

Behind his words was such conviction that even the most sceptical members of the troupe thought it might work.

It didn’t work.

"Oi! Look at that lot, in the capes! They’re stealing the good beer!" someone had yelled through a six-pint slur. With that rallying cry, the entire tavern had mobilised to defend their favourite liquids in what seemed like seconds. The fire crackled and chairs creaked as what seemed like every drunkard in the county rose from their seats, un-stuck their boots from the floor, and joined in with the bee-like buzz of disgruntlement that now filled the tavern.

… And that was how all four fellows had ended up trapped just in front of the fireplace, dimly silhouetted in the dying ebb of the evening’s coal.

The heat pressed against their backs almost as hotly as the fiery stares of angry barflies did their fronts. As the drunkards closed in on the frozen friends, Calvedar—usually well-mannered and polite—cleared his throat impatiently, as if to say something.

Yes, Calvedar? Absalus sighed.

You are an idiot, he said brusquely.

Thank you, Calvedar.

Caught red-handed clutching the ham, Bard closed his eyes and prayed that the light from the flames wouldn’t illuminate the second ham he’d concealed under his great purple cloak. He was close enough to the flames that it was beginning to smell like bacon.

As the clutch of people moved forward, the largest and drunkest member of the mob tripped over a floorboard and stumbled out in front of the crowd. Seeing he was suddenly alone, he covered for his mistake by raising his arm to point at the four friends, bellowing accusations at the offending storytellers as if the whole movement had been deliberate.

Ingots! Inglates! In…

"Eldrick, it’s ingrates," said another, shaking his head at the portly fellow.

Ah! Yes, thank you, Gallbert! shouted Eldrick, the usually kind-hearted ruffian who had stumbled out in front. "Ignerts, the lot o’ yer!"

"Ignerts!" cheered the crowd, raising their flagons in rumpled agreement.

We can explain! We can explain! yelled Elyon over the hubbub. Please, we’ve not eaten in days!

Eldrick, throwing his head back and sneering down his now-pointed arm, fumbled together another droplet of wisdom while looking towards the keg. "Beer not food! Lying!"

"Lying!" the crowd cheered.

Before anyone could stop him, knowing what was coming, the ever-honest Elyon—red-faced with shame at being thought a liar—defended himself: "Yes, but we also stole a big ham!"

Calvedar mused over his friend’s honesty while deftly dodging a tankard that had been lobbed at his head.

The tavern’s reaction to Elyon’s admission, however, was not so kindly. A man grabbed Elyon’s cape and dragged him to the floor, thrusting a switchblade just beneath his jaw.

You best have a damn fine reason to be takin’ things that ain’t yours, youngling, he growled, without separating his teeth at any point.

We do, we do! Elyon whimpered.

Thankfully, the more reasonable soul of Gallbert stepped in from behind his friends. Well, he’s hardly going to tell you with a knife to his throat, Ipswich. He knelt and gently guided the knife away from Elyon’s neck, then stood up to face Absalus. Let’s hear it, then. I can only hold them back for so long.

Absalus sighed. All right, all right. You caught us. Look, we won’t deny we were stealing the beer, and the ham, and all this stuff, but it should have been ours in the first place. We’re just taking what we’re owed.

The crowd murmured threateningly. The tavernkeeper, standing behind the bar, took an axe from above the coat-of-arms behind him and swung it menacingly just outside the mob’s vision. The gesture was very clearly meant only for the storytellers.

Absalus gulped, but was not deterred. We were asked by your tavernkeeper over there to play a show at his other property. You might know it, the inn on the other side of town. The ‘Toasty Garterbelt,’ or whatever it’s called.

Damn fine place, murmured someone in the crowd. That, along with a nod of approval from Eldrick, told Absalus he’d gotten the name right.

"We were to be paid four oldpennies apiece for our time, as well as being given a sit-down meal and board for the night. That’s exactly what we did. Show was good, we told our stories, made some friends… only to find out Rumpelstiltskin here behind the bar had sold our rooms. Funny that. We had a word with him, at which point he mentioned the hidden fee for us to rent the venue! Tried to pawn us off with one oldpenny between us, and no food!"

In unison, the entire room looked toward the tavernkeeper.

Lies, he said, without even looking up. He’d put the axe down quicker than a man of his size should have been able to, and was instead found innocently wiping down the perfectly clean bartop.

The room looked back to Absalus as if that was the end of it. You could almost feel a breeze from the heads turning so quickly.

Oh, come on! began Calvedar. "There’s a hundred of you! One of you must’ve been at the inn yesterday! Someone must’ve seen us!"

Weren’t you at the inn yesterday, Eldrick? someone piped up.

A hundred faces turned to stare at him. He went, somehow, even redder than he already was. Shan’t sayin’ nothin’! he puffed, folding his arms and looking away.

Gallbert pulled a dog biscuit out of his coat and wafted it under Eldrick’s nose. Come now, Eldrick, these poor men’s lives might be on the line. Do you recognise them from the inn? Any of them?

It was… dark… he slurred, his nose following the biscuit automatically as it waggled about in front of him.

But were there any storytellers there?

Think so. Wasn’t listening. Drunk.

Goes without saying, finished Gallbert as he tossed the biscuit into Eldrick’s jaw.

The tavernkeeper chimed in, though he was met with a fair few furrowed brows as people were beginning to believe the Fellowship’s tale, Look, if Eldrick can’t say he recognises any o’ them lot, then that’s the end of it. He turned to the fellows. "Get on out of here! No one’s bought a drink in minutes, and the quiet robey one is creepin’ out the good folk of this here tabernackle. Clear off!"

Calvedar slapped a table in frustration and stepped forward, the clink of his armour sounding out against the quiet of the now-silent pub.

Ah! shouted Eldrick suddenly, interrupting Calvedar’s imminent protest and pointing at the group with enough poise and grace that no one could quite tell who he was aiming for. Yer! Yer, I saw that one yesternight! So rightly I did!

Who did you see, Eldrick? Were they at the inn?

Eldrick made a face, trying to think of a word that wouldn’t come to mind. The… argh. Scurvy one! Battle-man! The…—he made a strange face and a high-pitched noise, as if to illustrate something—Ooh!

Needless to say, no one knew what he was on about.

Eldrick, use your words, man, come on, said Ipswich.

"The… argh. The one… the one that’s made of crockery!" he burped out, finally, as if this were somehow conclusive.

A baffled silence fell upon the room, broken only by the light murmurings of Crockery? and What’s a crockery? that settled over the pub floor.

The entire tavern simply stared at Eldrick, who was so drunk by this point that he hadn’t even noticed their reaction. Instead, he waddled over to a chair he’d found nearby and slumped into it with a sigh.

Not a single person had the slightest idea what he meant. Gallbert tentatively poked him, as if to prompt more explanation.

Eldrick jolted back to life and pointed at Calvedar, squinted his eyes, and spat out a single, damning word, with all the pride he could muster.

"Plates!"

For a few seconds, the room stood absolutely still, deciphering the cryptic message. It was Calvedar himself who figured it out first.

Oh. He means my plate mail… I think.

A curt nod from a very proud Eldrick gave them the all clear. Yer, I ’member it ’cos it clinked about all night, just like… Er… and I was eatin’ me dinner and talking to Fitzpatrick and I said to ’im, ‘yer, that man’s wearing the dining set!’ and he didn’t get it so I had to explain and…

No one really listened after that. Drunken nonsense was clearly a common part of Eldrick’s company.

Absalus cleared the air with a cough, stepping in to talk over the now-mumbling barfly. I think I have a solution, he began. Look, you’re all drunk—

"How dare you!" interrupted Eldrick, falling off his chair.

—so why not let us tell you a nice story to finish off the night, hmm? Buckle down with a drink, gather round the fire, have a little sing-song and go on an adventure, eh?

All we want in return is some nosh, Bard added happily.

Nosh! echoed Eldrick from the floor.

Quite right an idea! smiled Gallbert, turning to the room. Any objections?

The mob, who had already begun fluffing their cushions in preparation, all cheered. The tavernkeeper, on the other hand, looked like he was about to murder somebody, but said nothing, not wanting to upset his patrons.

All right! Fellowship, are you ready? said Absalus to the group.

Elyon nodded. Calvedar nodded. Bard nodded. Eldrick nodded off.

Then… Absalus said in hushed tones, whispering to the waiting room and holding up a finger in front of his lips. He paused for effect, then blew on it like a candle. As if by magic, the fire behind him erupted into its full glory, and the torches along the walls all snuffed out at once, casting him in shadows.

No one could see him speaking, but everyone could hear from his voice that Absalus was smiling.

"…let us begin!"

PART ONE: THE EARTHBOUND EYES

CHAPTER ONE

ATLAS

At the highest point of the tallest hill, carved into the face of the Lar Valley, stood Aspera Shrine. On top of Aspera Shrine, balancing deftly on the red-brick roof tiles, stood Atlas.

His hair ruffled in the mountain winds as he stared out over Giant’s Arm Bay, to the sea, watching as the weather-burned form of a moving empire cast its shadow over the ocean. As it emerged from the sunstorm that followed quickly behind it, more and more of its sheer size became apparent.

It was bigger than anything he’d ever seen.

Even here, miles and miles away from the thousand-odd mages who channeled magic into its engines, he could feel the echoes of its power in his chest. The long, winding curve of the white sands of the bay began to ripple, as if the land itself was afraid of what was coming. Even from all the way up here, it looked like the Earth was descending upon him from the sky.

It would only be a few hours before the shadow touched the shore. Not long enough to