In a dilapidated shack, clinging to the windswept slopes of a bleak, forbidding mountainside, an old crone huddled over a fire. The night air was freezing, and a casual observer might be forgiven for thinking the wretched figure's only interest in the blaze lay in the welcome warmth it provided.
They would be wrong.
Among the flames, figures danced. Shattered fragments of scenes flickered in and out of sight, too fast for comprehension. Too fast, at least, for those not adept at reading the fire.
The crone muttered, and shifted uneasily. In her long life, she had seen many things, both within the flames and without. She had thought that she could no longer be disturbed, or frightened.
She had been wrong.
The flames never fully revealed the shape of the future; even with all of her many decades of training and practice, the best she could ever hope for were hints and snatches of what was to come. Such was the nature of divination.
But not tonight. Not on this stormswept, frozen, seemingly endless night, black as the ashes of hellfire.
Tonight the flames were clear, as to what the future held.
It held doom.
YOU ARE READING
The Blade
FantasyExams, no girlfriend, a cantankerous grandfather - George has it tough. And that's even before the assassins come for him, he discovers the magical sword stashed in the attic, and finds out he's responsible for saving a world he didn't even know ex...
