1149, Age of Prophecy
The Laughing Moon grinned upon the Valley of Evermore as the men below fought and died. A sickle in the night sky, it shed only a sliver of pale moonlight into the dark valley, illuminating great grey-black stone faces and eroded statues, all staring into the valley with thousands of years of jaded indifference.
The city of Omadon’s ancient glory drowned in the sprawling valley, reclaimed by the desert leaving only fragments behind. Where towers, ziggurats and temples once challenged the sky, now only indistinguishable rubble remained. The profound beauty of the city—something unrivaled in the modern world—was long forgotten in the chaos of the passing years. Time had brought not only ruin, but obscurity. And in this lost empire the Rogue Twelve grew powerful. For the first time in centuries the stones of the great city hummed with magic.
The Twelve stood in a tight circle with their leader in the center. Basked in the glow of forbidden magic summoned by his colleagues, Kesson Pharun appeared more than human but still less than divine. Blue and gold light danced over a face caressed by ecstasy. The eleven others wove various tapestries of the arcane, all funneling into a single magical column absorbed by Kesson’s outstretched arms. Held in his hands was a simple golden wand made alive by the fluid streams of ethereal energy drawn from the Rogue coven.
Surrounding them, the bodies of nearly fifty reiners littered the barren valley. A terrible battle had been waged and lost before a single blow fell. Scattered upon a rocky hill lay the remains of the reiner regiment. Four weary and battered men were left alive, surrounded by the dead in the hush of midnight.
Devrian Lor, the reiner captain, peered over a broken slab to see the Twelve. Standing stones formed a loose circle and in the center sat a large egg-shaped crystal atop a pedestal. A magical light illuminated the thin golden walls of the object, pulsing like the beat of a titan’s heart. It was a thing plucked from fairy tales; a vastum, or would be once the Rogue Twelve were finished. A node of power connecting all worlds of magic, a gateway to the divine.
“The Twelve near completion,” Devrian said to the others gathered near.
Prologue
The Reining
Sneak Peek at The Barren Twelve
Copyright © 2010 Todd VanHooser