Fantasy
Date Published: June 30, 2012
The last of an ancient group of wizards leaves a gift to the newly arrived race of men. It is revered and cared for by a line of priests until it is stolen, and the high priest and his sovereign murdered by a king who believes himself destined to be a great wizard. But from ancient writings the high priest had discovered that the gift is not benevolent as was thought. This forces the son of the high priest, unexpectedly elevated to his father's position, and the young prince who is equally suddenly king, into a race to find the gift before it can be used as that may cause the destruction of the world. Accompanied by the retired captain of the palace guard they hope to speed their journey by crossing the Wasteland, a seeming desert, which is fabled to be populated by monsters, and from which no visitor has ever returned. In the course of their adventures they are hunted by dog faced men and captured by slavers, but the young prince truly becomes a king, and the priest discovers that he has a destiny that goes beyond the bounds of his world.
Excerpt
Hiding behind the trees they waited for
the approach of the dogfaced men. The
defile was cut deeply into the hillside and was flanked by rocky crags that
rose almost vertically to the top of the hill. Their pursuers would have no
alternative but to follow them up the defile as the climb on either side of it
would be almost impossible in the fury of the thunderstorm.
Michael Waller
Michael was born in Middlesbrough in the North Riding of Yorkshire, UK in 1951 where he was soon creating havoc as a short trousered rebel. Fortunately as his mother was head cook at police headquarters his numerous run ins with the constabulary were dealt with in the privacy of the family home. A junior school run by nuns, and then an excellent grammar school under the watchful eye of Marist priests educated him to have a love of literature, music and science. Though they did nothing to curb his anti-authority streak.
An initial ramble through all manner of jobs finally came to a halt in the oil and chemical industry where his love of science and all things technical provided him with gainful employment for almost thirty years. Whilst working he spent several years in the Middle East with visits to India, and around Europe before landing in the USA where he has lived for the past twenty years.
Retired now he writes, take photographs and restores vintage British motorcycles in upstate New York.
Fantasy
Date Published: June 30, 2012
The last of an ancient group of wizards leaves a gift to the newly arrived race of men. It is revered and cared for by a line of priests until it is stolen, and the high priest and his sovereign murdered by a king who believes himself destined to be a great wizard. But from ancient writings the high priest had discovered that the gift is not benevolent as was thought. This forces the son of the high priest, unexpectedly elevated to his father's position, and the young prince who is equally suddenly king, into a race to find the gift before it can be used as that may cause the destruction of the world. Accompanied by the retired captain of the palace guard they hope to speed their journey by crossing the Wasteland, a seeming desert, which is fabled to be populated by monsters, and from which no visitor has ever returned. In the course of their adventures they are hunted by dog faced men and captured by slavers, but the young prince truly becomes a king, and the priest discovers that he has a destiny that goes beyond the bounds of his world.
Excerpt
Hiding behind the trees they waited for
the approach of the dogfaced men. The
defile was cut deeply into the hillside and was flanked by rocky crags that
rose almost vertically to the top of the hill. Their pursuers would have no
alternative but to follow them up the defile as the climb on either side of it
would be almost impossible in the fury of the thunderstorm.
Carantor, crouching behind a tree was the
nearest to the gap through which the dogfaced men would have to come in single
file. His plan was to allow a small number of them through before he broke from
cover to face the remainder as they tried to climb through the gap. Caran Tuith
and Bataan stood a few yards back their swords drawn and ready to deal with
those first few in the tight confines of the gully. In the flashes of lightning
they could see down the rocky stairway with its steep sides, all the way to the
bottom, and they were sure that in their present position they could not be
caught unawares. Water ran over the slippery fragments of rock and between
their feet before cascading over the tangle of exposed tree roots, much of it
falling onto Carantor’s back. Oblivious to the cold water he waited, anxious
and alert, for the arrival of the creatures that had pursued them for three
days. He knew that there was no possibility of hearing their approach amid the
noise of the storm, and although the lightning when it came illuminated the
defile and its approach, the heavy rain and the pitch darkness between the
flashes could hide their arrival until the very last moment.
All three strained their eyes and ears.
Their fingers clenched and unclenched around the hilts of their swords. The
rain had soaked them to the skin and though Caran Tuith and Bataan had been
oblivious to how wet and cold they were during their flight, now, standing
still and quiet, they began to shiver and feel the numbness growing in their
toes.
Bataan thought that he saw something move
to the right of the defile, a large figure silhouetted for a moment against the
blinding white of the lightning. He turned to tell Caran Tuith that he thought
the dogfaced men had succeeded in climbing the cliffs and were coming over the
top of the hill when, in another flash of lightning, he saw in the young King’s
face a sudden alertness as he moved away from Bataan as if readying himself for
combat. Bataan did not need to ask what the lightning had revealed to his
friend. He too readied himself, and turned his eyes back to the defile trying
to discern any shape or movement in the darkness, the figure on the crest above
forgotten.
For a moment the storm seemed to lessen a
little, like a squall at sea that suddenly abates to give a moments quiet
respite before returning with renewed force. In that lull they heard the sound
of movement amongst the rocks as feet dislodged loose stones and sent them
clattering downhill. As the wind and rain returned Bataan thought that he heard
the sound of shouting voices. Then the whole sky flashed white with a
tremendous sheet of lightning that lit the ground before them in stark black
and white. In its glare the three stared in disbelief at the scene in the
defile. The dogfaced men where there, but they were not climbing up to fight.
They were struggling in the mesh of nets whose ends were held by large figures
straining to keep their footing on the crest above. Once more all was plunged
into darkness, and an immediate and deafening crash of thunder showed that the
storm was directly overhead.
Although their faces were hidden in the
dark, both Bataan and Caran Tuith’s wore the same bewildered expression. The
strange tableau, cast into such stark relief by the lightning, was unexpected
and confusing. Almost before they had time to have a second thought Carantor
was with them.
“Run” he yelled over the noise of the
storm.
Michael was born in Middlesbrough in the North Riding of Yorkshire, UK in 1951 where he was soon creating havoc as a short trousered rebel. Fortunately as his mother was head cook at police headquarters his numerous run ins with the constabulary were dealt with in the privacy of the family home. A junior school run by nuns, and then an excellent grammar school under the watchful eye of Marist priests educated him to have a love of literature, music and science. Though they did nothing to curb his anti-authority streak.
An initial ramble through all manner of jobs finally came to a halt in the oil and chemical industry where his love of science and all things technical provided him with gainful employment for almost thirty years. Whilst working he spent several years in the Middle East with visits to India, and around Europe before landing in the USA where he has lived for the past twenty years.
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