This fantasy
quest novel, Wings of the Overlord, has been a long time in coming to print - from original conception to now it has taken 50 years, in fact. Now, Knox Robinson has
just published it and soon will be offering a free e-book short story ('Shadows over Lornwater') that lays some
of the groundwork for this novel and its sequel, To Be King, which is in progress.
PROLOGUE
SONALUMES, 2050 AC
No one can ever truly know or understand
these magnificent creatures - how could
they? For the Red Tellars are the Wings of the Overlord. - Dialogues
of Meshanel
Snow-clad and ice-bound, the two peaks
opposite rose in ragged splendour to pierce the egg-blue sky of dawn. Wisps of
cloud gusted and swathed about the rock formations, occasionally obscuring the
chasm far below. Scattered on narrow ledges and precipitous ridges, thousands
of drab-clothed men stood or crouched, waiting.
Wrapped in an inadequate fawn-fur cloak which freezing gusts of
air threatened to whip from him, General Foo-sep braced himself and, his
clean-shaven chin set with annoyance, looked down upon his suffering men. His
gums ached dully with the insidious cold, yellow teeth chattering. In vain he
rubbed fur-gloved hands together.
An entire toumen! Ten
thousand men! And they were to take orders from an accursed civilian! He
seethed, casting an embittered glare to his right, at a black-clad man of
slight frame, parchment-coloured skin and ebony pebbles for eyes.
The wind slapped at the man’s fur cloak and whistled over
the bare out-jutting rocks nearby.
Wind-howl was deafening on the outcrop up here, yet only a step
back into the shelter of the overhang no sound penetrated; and from here the
entire range of the Sonalume Mountains seemed enveloped in this same eerie
stillness.
“They will be along soon,” said the civilian, visibly
tensing as he leaned over the sloping ledge. His bear-hide boots crackled as he
moved, shifting ice from the soles.
Below – a dizzying drop that had claimed too
many men already – the bottom indistinct in a slithering
purple haze.
Foo-sep discerned the tiny motes of black in the sky and, as the
shapes approached, he was struck by their immense size. Framed by the two
grey-blue peaks, the birds were coming; he had to admit, grudgingly, as
predicted.
“Now!” howled the civilian.
Hoarfrost encrusted brows scowling, Foo-sep lifted his arm and
signalled to his men on both sides of the wide, gaping chasm.
Soundlessly, with military precision, the prepare signal was
passed through the dispersed ranks.
Foo-sep raised his eyeglass, careful lest he touched his skin with
its icy rim.
Stern-faced with the cold and, at last, a sense of purpose, his
loyal soldiers were now unfurling nets and arranging stones for quick reloading
of their sling-shots.
Foo-sep slowly scanned across the striated rock face.
Abruptly, the birds leapt into focus, their presence taking away
his breath in cold wisps. Such an enormous wingspan! And red, O so red! He
hesitated at the thought of the task ahead.
His momentary indecision must have been communicated to the other,
or perhaps the civilian possessed even more arcane powers than those with which
he was credited; “The King desires it,” was
all he said.
Foo-sep nodded and moved the eyeglass across to the other rock
face where the remaining soldiers were trying in vain to keep warm, quivers
ready, bowstrings taut and poised.
Now the birds were entering between the peaks.
Foo-sep waved to a signaller who blew three great blasts on his
horn. The sound echoed among the peaks.
In a constant flurry, ice-coated nets looped out, a few attached
to arrows, entwining many of the creatures’ wings. Some birds swooped
beneath the heavy mesh then swerved, talons raking the men responsible. Others
used their wings to sweep soldiers from the ledges as though dusting furniture.
Stones hit a few on their bright red crests and they plummeted, stunned, to be
caught by outstretched nets beneath; nets that were slowly filling up,
straining at their supports.
Watching through his eyeglass, Foo-sep was amazed at the weird
silence of the birds: only their frenetically beating wings generated any
sound; all other noise originated from his yelling and shrieking soldiers as
they flung nets and stones or were dragged from precarious positions. He
scowled as a group of fools forgot to keep clear of their own nets; entangled,
they were wrenched to giddy, plunging deaths.
Pacing from side to side, Foo-sep watched helplessly as his
beloved toumen was decimated. And for what? A few hundred birds!
His attention was diverted to an uncannily large specimen ensnared
in nets, its feathers flying as it clawed at two soldiers on a ledge while they
loosed sling-stones at the creature.
Yet the missiles had no effect, and the massive curved beak
snapped through the brittle mesh as though it was flimsy plains-grass.
As the bird looped, Foo-sep noticed a distinctive marking none of
the others seemed to possess – a white patch on its throat.
The civilian must have observed it also, because at that instant
he gripped Foo-sep’s arm, lips visibly trembling, black
pebble-eyes shining. Then, in desperation, the idiot shouted an order that made
no sense at all: “Let that one go!”
Numb with cold, bitterly aware of how many good men had suffered
already at the talons of that gigantic bird, Foo-sep steeled himself against
his better instinct and cupped gloved hands round his mouth.
“Let that one go!” he called.
And the words echoed, mocking: “Let
that one go!”
***
The
book is a collaborative effort, between Gordon Faulkner and me. We use the
penname Morton Faulkner for this series. I would hope that readers will want to
find out more – in particular why the civilian let that bird go. Indeed, you
can download as a free sample the Prologue plus the first chapter from the Knox Robinson website
- http://www.knoxrobinsonpublishing.com/book/wings-of-the-overlord/