The Dragon’s Orb, Book I, Blood Awakens. Prologue

I had this fantasy book idea way back in 2009, whilst on holiday in Waikiki, Hawaii. I’ve picked it up and put it down so many times as life got in the way. The first section of this book was originally written on paper, but with modern tools and, learning to use them. I have started to transfer it to digital format. So to the crunch, here is the book so far, I will post chapter by chapter as, and when I transfer it over. I would just like to point out, that it only in the first draft stage so you may find some grammatical and spelling errors, however, I’m confident that there will be minimal. (I hope.)

Happy reading and any feedback is welcome

Faithfully yours,




The heel of his black leather boots clicked on the stone floor, the echo bounced through the damp tunnels, the smell of dirt and mold, heavy in his nostrils. Normally, he would never come down to the dungeons of his castle. The fine Salesor silk wasn’t the attire for a such a place, and he was decked out in the finest royal green robes. The best money could buy, embroidered with his personal insignia, a silver dragon clutching an Orb, positioned just above his right chest.

No, he would never be seen dead in his dungeons, the thought of it! He left that sort of business to his minions; he was much better suited for entertaining his guests at his glamorous balls. However, the interrogating of this prisoner was special; personal even. This prisoner knew something very important to him. The elf didn’t know it yet, but this would be his last chance to tell him. After weeks of torture, the elf had managed to resist talking. He had long known that elves were strong in magic, but he didn’t realize just how strong this one was. Still, weeks of torture and starvation would weaken the most gifted spell weaver.

He rounded a damp stone corner, green lichen clung to its slippery surface. He glared ahead to where a single torch spluttered, opposite a heavy wooden door. A goblin sentry that had heard the approaching footsteps stood erect next to the cell, where moments before he had been asleep. Suppressing his annoyance only slightly, he motioned at the cell door to be opened. Light from the torch spilled through the gradually opening crack. The goblin turned towards his master bowing low, avoiding his eyes, which burned with an eagerness that was unsettling.

The sorcerer’s eyes followed the sweeping light to the single occupant of the cell, a breeze caught at the hem of his green robe, lifting the fabric out behind him and whipping it around his sword scabbard. The golden scabbard was decorated with red rubies on its face, and small blood diamonds clustered at the side. An elegant hand and a half sword nestled within its reaches. Perched on his hip was the pommel, a huge blood diamond glistened in the torchlight, a thick steel cross-piece sparkles with colorless gems.

This sword was once lost to time. History turned it to legend; legend turned it to myth. It was said that this sword was the sword of Durasken, the god of destruction. He crafted the sword, pouring all of his dark magic into it, with the aim of capturing the souls of his enemies, forcing them to serve him in death. Many scholars believe that the blade is possessed, not by the souls it has captured, rather it has a will of its own. The human sages refer to the sword as the judgment of Souls, the Dwarfs tales call its “Sabrak Agland, and the elf named it Elia Megul; deaths touch.

A smile spread across the sorcerer’s face; a scar that ran from his left lip to the eye crinkled slightly in the gesture, adding to his demonic demeanor. He looked down at his captive with complete hatred, devoid of all reasons but one. The answer he needed.The cold stone floor was hard on his knees after the last week or was it the last month, he really couldn’t tell anymore.

The cold stone floor was hard on his knees after the last week or was it the last month, he really couldn’t tell anymore. Sweat trickled down his back like icy finger seeking a path across his body, even though it was cold down here in the dungeons. The iron chains burnt into his wrist and ankles, the wounds would scab over in the night when he was left alone, but in the morning the torture would begin and fresh ones would open.


His vision was blurry due to the mixture of blood from his latest cut, and puss from an old one. The beating he’d taken from his torturer this morning was especially cruel. The stench of vomit and excrement still clung to his robe. A robe was a loose term; it may have been a robe ones, but it was tattered, torn and stained now, a testament to the former owners, and like them, Arannon knew that he would not be the last one to don this garment.

The reason for his torture now stood before him, his shadow chilled him like the cold stone floor. The Sorcerer presence was an ill omen. Arannon’s knew his power was fading, and he didn’t know how long he could keep resisting. He had been so close to escaping the castle, only to be betrayed by a so-called friend. His friend had hidden his deception well as he had been corrupted by Malgaron, just like so many others.


They had reached the chamber where the hostage was being held, but it had been a trap. They fought the guards and managed to rescue the Lady, but escape started to look impossible. 15 rescuers quickly turned to 10, and then to 7, as 3 more died escaping the halls of the castle. At the portcullis, more guard was waiting. The fight had been desperate, maybe the thought of having nothing left to lose had allowed them to even the odds, and slowly win the attack. Arannon and Prelon were the last at the gate, allowing the others time to slip under and get away. But Arannon wasn’t so lucky; the blow of treachery was far worse than the blow over the head he had suffered from Perlon.

At least, the lady was safe and away from Malgaron, that was the mission the companions had set out on. Each had pled their lives to the cause, and now he would follow his brothers and sisters who had died fulfilling it.

“So my old friend, I hope that you’re now ready to talk?”

The force of the sorcerer’s voice in the small cell shocked Arannon out of his fatigued day-dream, his stomach twisted into a tight knot. How had it come to this he thought?

“So, You choose to stay silent once again uh, well you will soon break, Elf, and then you will tell me all I want to know.” Arannon throat burned as he forced words past his parched lips.

“You shall never find her, ‘old friend,’ this I will take to my grave.”

Anger flashed in his eyes, he had used every spell in his spell books that he thought would break the elf, and yet he was still unable. He had one last hope, an old spell, one that he had found in the depths of his library; he wasn’t sure if it would work, but he had run out of options. Malgaron raised his hand and spoke the incantation. Arannon skin started to crawl and his mind reeled; thoughts and memories were ripped from him.


A maniacal laugh rang inside the cell as the Sorcerer realized that the elf had finally broken. His mind felt like it was being scorched from within, the pain exploded behind his eyes, and draining his last reserves. An image of the Lady sprang to his mind, and he flailed at it. It was all he had needed, a light in the middle of the darkness. Arannon regained his composure and held closed the one piece of information he wanted. A bead of sweat glistened on the sorcerer’s brow. The spell was taking a lot of his energy; he held on for a few moments more before letting the spell fade. Panting Malgaron lowered his hand and growled at the limp elf.

“I haven’t the time to play with you Arannon, in time I would reduce you to nothing, and then you would beg me to show you mercy. But, I will strike a deal with you. Tell me where your friends have taken Erazel, and I’ll let you out the castle with a day’s head start before I send the dragons after you.” Arannon sat with his head bowed, his breath coming in thick and fast, he didn’t even raise his head to reply.

“No Malgaron, just kill me now and have done with it.” Malgaron snarled and wrenched his sword from out of its scabbard and pointed at his enemy.

“Tell me!”

The shout echoed around the cell and out into the stone hall.
The goblin shrank back. Arannon shoulders slumped as he lifted his eyes to Malgaron. A small smile played around the corners of his lips, his last defiance.


The sword came thundering down to cleave through the chest of the elf. Arannon fell to the floor, a pool of crimson slowly working its way out, soaking the flagstone floor. The blood another addition to the interior of the cell.

A green glow started to diffuse off the still body of Arannon, growing in intensity it drifted to the center of the cell, where it gently shaped into the image of the former elf.
The green aura of Arannon’s soul splashed against the walls, giving color to the dark recesses of the four stone walls. Arannon turned to his killer with a tight-lipped smile, Malgaron flashed a triumphant grin in return, crinkling his scarred face.

“Once again, my sword’s power will help me achieve my goals. I command you to tell me where Erazel is?”

Never had the sword of Durasken failed in binding its victims to the will of the sword, but today was its first. Arannon’s soul smiled grew wider.

“Now Malgaron you will never know.”

The voice was hallowed as if spoken from a distance. The wicked grin slowly drained from the sorcerer’s face, his triumph replaced by disbelief, slowly a distance emotion resurfaced, Fear.

“How have you done this?” Mouthed Malgaron. The Arannon lost his smile.

“You have been blinded by the dark Malgaron; you cannot control that which has been given to another. My soul will always belong to Ithica, and that you cannot change.”
Malgaron’s rage washed over him, incinerating the fear he had just felt.

“You tricked me, damn you.” Arannon smiled at the sorcerer’s discomfort.

“You of all people should have known that, sorcerer.”

Malgaron swung his sword at Arannon in frustration; the blade didn’t even disturb the wisps of the green aura. A chuckle escaped from Arannon as he slowly started to fade.

“This cannot be, come back I command you.”

“Cannot, you have lost sorcerer, and now you will never know where Erazel is.”
The single torch spluttered on the wall and died as Arannon’s soul vanished into nothing, plunging the prison back into the blackness of hell Malgaron had created.

A thunderous roar filled the cell as the goblin sentry screeched in the dark and fled as the rage of his master filled the dungeon.

Next chapter >>>

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