Soulformer: The Serpent Isles – Prologue

Surprise! As a celebration for finishing draft 2 and beginning the beta reading process, I’ve decided to post the prologue here for everyone! This is the most recent draft of it and its a sample of what my beta readers will be getting. In it, we are introduced to the novel’s antagonist, Forbrath, and his mysterious quest. I imagine this will be tweaked in further revisions, but I think it gives a nice glimpse at what’s in store!

If you would like a chance to be a beta reader, check out my post on detailed information!

Without further ado, please enjoy this sneak peek at Soulformer: The Serpent Isles!

Prologue

            Forbrath sat atop his gloriously gaudy throne perched upon an elevated pedestal, immovable as a stone statue.  The golden chair bedecked with dozens of large gemstones wasn’t very comfortable, but that wasn’t the point.  A god needed to present a certain authority, and he could think of no better way than showing off a sense of ostentation.  He hadn’t intended on adopting so many eccentricities of the old gods, but he had to admit, being ridiculously wealthy was not a terrible way to live.

He reveled in the stillness of his cavernous throne room.  The slightest click of a footstep on the cobblestone could be heard throughout the chamber, yet he heard nothing.  It felt as though he were the only living soul for miles, yet he knew his faithful priests surrounded him just beyond all four walls. 

He glanced about casually, admiring the fine trappings surrounding him.  Velvet curtains draped to the floor from the ceiling high above his head.  Golden candelabras with sputtering candles lined the walls, casting mysterious shadows about like creeping monsters escaping their dark corner cages.  Again, it struck him just how peaceful it all seemed.  Yet to him, the silence was deafening.

He gracefully stood to his feet, his long black robes reaching the floor.  Despite his extravagant surroundings, he didn’t feel that extended to his person.  His robes were simply adorned with a small mark upon his left breast.  A golden sun rising between two trees.  The symbol of his reign and power over the people of Lasneull, taken by blood and fire.

Slowly, he made his way around his throne and opened the door to his private chambers beyond.  No one was allowed in here, not even his most trusted advisors.  Though if someone were to see inside, they might be surprised and a little disappointed at how austere it appeared to be. 

A simple four poster bed sat in the corner, just enough size for him and him alone.  The only other piece of furniture was his precious writing desk, covered in the ancient tomes and scrolls he had spent years collecting.  He had poured through them all well over one hundred times, marking passages and jotting notes.  Historians would faint at how many one-of-a-kind documents he had scribbled over, but he had made sure these would never be seen by another soul again.  Additionally, all other copies, the few that had still remained past his rise to power, had been destroyed at his request.  He had no intention of letting any hint of what he sought leave this castle.

Forbrath strode to the open book that currently occupied the only space on his desk not covered in parchment and quills.  His knowledge had grown substantially from the available sources he had found, and the fact that all he lacked was a location was slowly driving him insane.  It was so close he could taste it.  He flipped through the pages, seeing every word, every picture etched in his mind.  He had these books practically memorized, yet still he knew there was some connection he couldn’t make.  It was like a word on the tip of your tongue, yet your mind wouldn’t let it be released.  He pulled at his grey-tinged goatee, a nervous habit he had unfortunately picked up in recent years.  Something so unsightly and positively normal for a god.

More and more he found his mind wandering, moments of haze and temporary lapses in memory that reminded him of his frail shell.  What he wouldn’t give to have the clarity of his youth back.  Was this why he couldn’t manage to find what he needed?  Was he mind already failing him?

A loud bang echoed from beyond his chambers.  Forbrath’s eye twitched in annoyance, yet his face remained calm; a reaction well-practiced.  The patter of footsteps echoed loudly as the intruder rushed to the steps leading up the dais and his throne.  Finally, the echoes died and it was quiet once more.  Forbrath turned back to his book, flipping another page.

“Your excellent Oneness…?”  A timid voice came from beyond, barely a whisper yet shocking enough in the silence to feel like a scream.  Forbrath’s eyes narrowed, and he left the ancient volume lying open on the table. 

Slowly, he made his way through the door and back around to his throne.  He was sure to take his time as he lowered himself down, making himself comfortable before turning his attention to the priest before him.  The priest’s bloodred robes enveloped his body with only his eyes visible.  Yet still, Forbrath could sense the fear radiating through his body.  His eyes were cast to the floor, back bowed in reverence.  At least the man had some sense of propriety.

Forbrath remained quiet for some time, basking in the discomfort it caused his servant.  Finally, he waved his hand dismissively in the air.

“Speak.” 

The priest knelt to the ground, cowering at Forbrath’s feet.  “Thank you, oh kind and glorious One,” he pleaded. 

While Forbrath did tend to enjoy the worship, the overly affectionate groveling had begun to grate on his nerves more than he cared to admit.

“I said speak.” 

The priest hastily backed away on his knees, his forehead to the floor.

“Oh, great and mighty One.  Please forgive my intrusion, but there has been a report from scouting group six.” 

Forbrath’s eyebrow rose in anticipation, though he did not show any further emotion.

“Continue,” Forbrath commanded.

“My beloved and gracious One, I believe they’ve found what you’ve been seeking.  They were rescued some distance off the coast of the ruins of Phemond.”

“I’ve had those areas scoured by dozens of ships.  Nothing has changed.”  Forbrath began to rise from his throne, dismissing his priest, yet the robed figure remained still upon the floor.

“As always, you are correct, my Lord,” the priest whimpered.  “Except… this time, their vessel was completely destroyed, oh excellent One.  Of the fourscore crew, only five remain, and they all seemed to have lost their minds.  We can barely make sense of their babbling.” 

Forbrath paused, slowly sitting back down.  This was new.

“Where are they now?” Forbrath asked.

“Below, my Lord.  We brought them here immediately.  We knew that only thy great and glorious understanding could interpret their insanity and unfog their minds.”  The priest seemed to hesitate.

“I sense there is something you have not told me.  Speak.”

“Of course, oh magnificent One,” the priest said.  It appeared as if he were too afraid to say what was on his mind, yet Forbrath remained silent.  Finally, somehow lowering himself even further to the ground, the priest spoke.

“My saving grace, the One who rules us all… I have been sent to tell you…”  His body was shaking uncontrollably now.  “There is one coherent thing that they all continue to repeat.  It’s the only words we can understand.” 

Again, fearful silence.  Forbrath’s anticipation rose.

“My Lord… They keep repeating… ‘dragon’…” 

A great fire rose within Forbrath’s chest. 

This.  This is what he had spent years searching for, the final piece to his puzzle.  The key to unlock limitless power.  His spirit soared triumphantly, and he almost let it show in the presence of another.  He rose to his feet, slowly walking to the cowering figure before him.  The priest sensed his presence and shrunk within his robes, audibly whimpering.

“You have done well, my son,” Forbrath said, his silky voice calming the priest.  “Rise.” 

The priest stood, his body still slightly bent in reverence.

“How many know of their presence here?” Forbrath asked.  He lightly extended his hand, placing it on the priest’s shoulder.  The priest stiffened with an icy stillness.

“Three, including myself, oh excellent One.  They all remain guarding the five crewmen.”

“Thank you,” Forbrath said.  The priest’s body convulsed.  An audible crack echoed throughout the throne room.  His lifeless body slumped to the floor, neck bent at an odd angle.  Deep below in the recesses of the castle, Forbrath felt seven more lives snuff out of existence.  He would need to send for someone to clean up this mess.  Filled with elation, he slowly made his way back to his private chamber. 

He had done it.  He had finally found what he had been searching for all this time.  As he stood before his desk, he triumphantly flipped to the center of the cracked leather tome.  There on the page was the ancient hand-drawn image of a mythical island, a fantasy turned to legend.  The birthplace of dragons.

The Serpent Isles.  And he now knew where to find it.

Gathering up the research he had done, he stacked everything neatly into a pile in the corner of the room.  Tipping his simple oil lamp, he coated the priceless relics and tossed the lamp on top.  His room was filled with a blazing light.  Every scroll, every book, every scrap of parchment was ablaze.  Within seconds, nothing remained but piles of blackened ash. 

He allowed himself a rare smile.