Roland of the High Crags - Books 1-3

Prologue

The moonlight streaming through the narrow slit of a window is strong tonight. Its eerie, silvery light filled with mysteries yet to be discovered, and the ghostly whispers of voices yet to be heard. And peace. A breath of quiet, still peace that I have not felt for quite some time.

The moonlight streaming through the narrow slit of a window is strong tonight. Its eerie, silvery light filled with mysteries yet to be discovered, and the ghostly whispers of voices yet to be heard. And peace. A breath of quiet, still peace that I have not felt for quite some time.I have been in this cell for oh so long. Years. Decades. Perhaps centuries. . . I cannot say.

I have been in this cell for oh so long. Years. Decades. Perhaps centuries. . . I cannot say.But it"s time, brother.

But it"s time, brother.Time for me to leave the confining space of this narrow dungeon cell. Time to elude my captors, and again take up the sword and shield. The fight will continue. What was. . . will be again. The promise of futures lost perhaps ready to be born again. There is no escaping the cycle. Years of solitude, of captivity, have only made me stronger.

Time for me to leave the confining space of this narrow dungeon cell. Time to elude my captors, and again take up the sword and shield. The fight will continue. What was. . . will be again. The promise of futures lost perhaps ready to be born again. There is no escaping the cycle. Years of solitude, of captivity, have only made me stronger.Aye, brother. . .my body is old and frail. White grows my hair now. The wrinkles of age on my face are too numerous to count. My bones creak and groan every time I stir from my bed. But the soul, brother . . . the soul within this ancient casket of flesh and bone remains strong! And for as long as my soul lives. . .

Aye, brother. . .my body is old and frail. White grows my hair now. The wrinkles of age on my face are too numerous to count. My bones creak and groan every time I stir from my bed. But the soul, brother . . . the soul within this ancient casket of flesh and bone remains strong! And for as long as my soul lives. . .How long I have been in this dungeon cell, I cannot say. I gave up counting the days and years long ago. Suffice it to say, it has been at least one lifetime. Perhaps two. This narrow slit deep in the bowels of some ancient fortress long forgotten, its walls made of stone streaked with a rare metal that limits my wizardry powers, has counted with me many summers and winters passing. Patiently have I waited for this day. I endured. I survived. I fought back the pain of my captor"s torments. I fought the long hours of unbelievable silence that pushed me close to the edge of the abyss called insanity. For years, I heard not the sound of a human voice. Yet I endured in this cell of infinite solitude.

How long I have been in this dungeon cell, I cannot say. I gave up counting the days and years long ago. Suffice it to say, it has been at least one lifetime. Perhaps two. This narrow slit deep in the bowels of some ancient fortress long forgotten, its walls made of stone streaked with a rare metal that limits my wizardry powers, has counted with me many summers and winters passing. Patiently have I waited for this day. I endured. I survived. I fought back the pain of my captor"s torments. I fought the long hours of unbelievable silence that pushed me close to the edge of the abyss called insanity. For years, I heard not the sound of a human voice. Yet I endured in this cell of infinite solitude.I gather strength standing in the light of a full moon. Now, in my old age, it is the white light of a full moon that soothes the troubled waters of my soul and infuses me with a sublime, almost sensual feeling of strength hard to describe.

I gather strength standing in the light of a full moon. Now, in my old age, it is the white light of a full moon that soothes the troubled waters of my soul and infuses me with a sublime, almost sensual feeling of strength hard to describe.Years ago, while still a young man, I would never have admitted such a truth. My training, my religious order, would have frowned upon these words and would have forced me to recant. But not now, faithful servant. Not after all these years of abandonment and solitude.

Years ago, while still a young man, I would never have admitted such a truth. My training, my religious order, would have frowned upon these words and would have forced me to recant. But not now, faithful servant. Not after all these years of abandonment and solitude.Know you, pilgrim. I am, or at least at one time long, long ago, a Bretan monk. A Bretan warrior-monk. I wear still the yellow robes of that ancient order with deep humility and love. Even though . . . even though in the eyes of my kind, both brothers and sisters of the order, I am an apostate. A feared and loathed disbeliever who has taken up the sword against his faith. Against the teachings of the Bretan.

Know you, pilgrim. I am, or at least at one time long, long ago, a Bretan monk. A Bretan warrior-monk. I wear still the yellow robes of that ancient order with deep humility and love. Even though . . . even though in the eyes of my kind, both brothers and sisters of the order, I am an apostate. A feared and loathed disbeliever who has taken up the sword against his faith. Against the teachings of the Bretan.They will tell you, my Bretan brothers and sisters that it was I who brought this Great Evil among us. It was I who, when given the chance to destroy this Great Evil long before she became what she is today, failed in my faith and allowed her to live. To not only live, Pilgrim, but to thrive! To grow in her strength and powers of the Netherworld through the training and technique of a Bretan wizard.

They will tell you, my Bretan brothers and sisters that it was I who brought this Great Evil among us. It was I who, when given the chance to destroy this Great Evil long before she became what she is today, failed in my faith and allowed her to live. To not only live, Pilgrim, but to thrive! To grow in her strength and powers of the Netherworld through the training and technique of a Bretan wizard.She is, indeed, a formidable power. Her command of the Netherworld magic is beyond comparison. She lives in both worlds at the same time. Both here in the Middle Kingdom, where all our souls—still wrapped in these caskets of flesh and blood—reside, and in the World of the Dead as well. The Netherworld. She is aware of both worlds and interacts in both dimensions all at the same time. No mortal wizard or witch before her has ever accomplished such a feat.

She is, indeed, a formidable power. Her command of the Netherworld magic is beyond comparison. She lives in both worlds at the same time. Both here in the Middle Kingdom, where all our souls—still wrapped in these caskets of flesh and blood—reside, and in the World of the Dead as well. The Netherworld. She is aware of both worlds and interacts in both dimensions all at the same time. No mortal wizard or witch before her has ever accomplished such a feat.How many have died because of her? How many empires have fallen? How many loving families ripped asunder? Millions. Hundreds of millions. And still, She reigns over the many. Because of her, a great imbalance permeates throughout the Great Cycle around which both the Netherworld and the Middle Kingdom revolve. An imbalance that must be corrected. Must be corrected if this universe, as we know it, is to remain intact and operate like the great mechanism it is.

How many have died because of her? How many empires have fallen? How many loving families ripped asunder? Millions. Hundreds of millions. And still, She reigns over the many. Because of her, a great imbalance permeates throughout the Great Cycle around which both the Netherworld and the Middle Kingdom revolve. An imbalance that must be corrected. Must be corrected if this universe, as we know it, is to remain intact and operate like the great mechanism it is.But she is, Pilgrim, not the She whom I raised. She is a different soul. A She from some far distant Past who, when the opportunity was offered to her, stole the one whom I raised with love and tenderness and patience, and imprisoned her.

But she is, Pilgrim, not the She whom I raised. She is a different soul. A She from some far distant Past who, when the opportunity was offered to her, stole the one whom I raised with love and tenderness and patience, and imprisoned her.Aye, brother. . . aye. It is something beyond knowing, beyond belief, that which I scribble hurriedly on this parchment. A she from a different past, you say? How can this be? What Dark Magic is being laid bare here? How could someone from the past, someone long since dead, return to the Now and replace the living? But it is so, Pilgrim. It is so. And it falls upon my shoulders to rectify this Great Schism and bring back the Laws of Order and Tranquility from the Rules of Chaos and Darkness.

Aye, brother. . . aye. It is something beyond knowing, beyond belief, that which I scribble hurriedly on this parchment. A she from a different past, you say? How can this be? What Dark Magic is being laid bare here? How could someone from the past, someone long since dead, return to the Now and replace the living? But it is so, Pilgrim. It is so. And it falls upon my shoulders to rectify this Great Schism and bring back the Laws of Order and Tranquility from the Rules of Chaos and Darkness.It begins tonight, my brother. Tonight. . . when the full moon hurls its first bright beams of pure light through the bars of this narrow dungeon cell. When the shaft of soft, silvery white light touches the stone floor, I will step into its sweet embrace, and I will. . . I will. . .

It begins tonight, my brother. Tonight. . . when the full moon hurls its first bright beams of pure light through the bars of this narrow dungeon cell. When the shaft of soft, silvery white light touches the stone floor, I will step into its sweet embrace, and I will. . . I will. . .But before this happens. . . before the struggle begins anew, I will hurriedly scribble a few lines of what took place before. I will write a short history of the struggle with the forces of Chaos and those entities who reside in the Netherworld.

But before this happens. . . before the struggle begins anew, I will hurriedly scribble a few lines of what took place before. I will write a short history of the struggle with the forces of Chaos and those entities who reside in the Netherworld.I am Bretan, brother. Once known as an honorable warrior-monk and wizard. I am Roland. Known as Roland of the High Crags.

I am Bretan, brother. Once known as an honorable warrior-monk and wizard. I am Roland. Known as Roland of the High Crags.This is my story.

This is my story.